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35etnar&m  De  St*  piertc 


CHICAGO 
M.  A.  DONOHUE  &  CO, 

407-429  Dearborn  Street 


M.  A.  I>ONOHTJE  &  CO.,  PRXNTERS  AND  BINDIIRS,  CHlOAQO. 


PEEFACE. 


Ix  introducing  to  the  Public  the  present 
edition  of  this  well-known  and  affecting 
Tale, — the  chef-cToeuvre  of  its  gifted  author, 
the  Publishers  take  occasion  to  say,  that  it 
affords  them  no  little  gratification,  to  ap- 
prise tho  numerous  admirers  of  "  Paul  and 
Virginia,"  that  the  entire  work  of  St.  Pierre 
is  now  presented  to  them.  All  the  previous 
editions  have  been  disfigured  by  interpola- 
tions, and  mutilated  by  numerous  omissions 
and  alterations,  which  have  had  the  effect 
of  reducing  it  from  the  rank  of  a  Philo- 
sophical Tale,  to  the  level  of  a  mere  story 
for  children. 

Of  the  merits  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  it 
is  hardly  necessary  to  utter  a  word ;  it  tells 
its  own  story  eloquently  and  impressively, 
and  in  a  language  simple,  natural  and  true, 
it  touches  the  common  heart  of  the  world. 
There  are  but  few  works  that  have  obtained 
a  greater  degree  of  popularity,  none  are 

3 


4 


PREFACE, 


more  deserving  it ;  and  the  Publishers  can- 
not therefore  refrain  from  expressing  a  hope 
that  their  efforts  in  thus  giving  a  faithful 
transcript  of  tlie  work, — an  acknowledged 
classic  by  the  European  world, — may  be,  in 
some  degree,  instrumental  in  awakening 
here,  at  home,  a  taste  for  those  higher  works 
of  Fancy,  which,  while  they  seek  to  elevate 
and  strengthen  the  understanding,  instruct 
and  purify  the  heart.  It  is  in  this  character 
that  the  Tale  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia  "  ranks 
pre-eminent. 


MEMOIR 


OF 

BEENAEDm  DE  ST.  PIEEEE. 


Love  of  Nature,  that  strong  feeling  of 
enthusiasm  which  leads  to  profound  admira- 
tion of  the  whole  works  of  creation,  belongs, 
it  may  be  presumed,  to  a  certain  peculiarity 
of  organization,  and  has,  no  doubt,  existed 
in  different  individuals  from  the  beginning 
of  the  world.  The  old  poets  and  philoso- 
phers, romance  writers  and  troubadours  had 
all  looked  upon  iSTature  with  observing  and 
admiring  eyes.  They  have  most  of  them 
given  incidentally  charming  pictures  of 
spring,  of  the  setting  sun,  of  particular 
spots,  and  of  favorite  flowers. 

There  are  few  writers  of  note,  of  any  coun- 
try or  of  any  age,  from  whom  quotations 
might  not  be  made  in  proof  of  the  love  with 

5 


6 


MEMOIR  OF 


which  they  regarded  Nature.  And  this 
remark  appHes  as  much  to  reUgious  and 
philosophic  writers  as  to  poets, — equally  to 
Plato,  St.  Fran9ois  de  Sales,  Bacon  and 
Fenelon,  as  to  Shakspeare,  Racine,  Calderon, 
or  Burns  ;  for  from  no  really  philosophic  or 
religious  doctrine  can  the  love  of  the  works 
of  Nature  be  excluded. 

But  before  the  days  of  Jean  Jacques  Rous- 
seau, Buffon,  and  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre, 
this  love  of  Nature  had  not  been  expressed 
in  all  its  intensity.  Until  their  day,  it  had 
not  been  written  on  exclusively.  The  lovers 
of  Nature  were  not,  till  then,  as  they  may 
perhaps  since  be  considered,  a  sect  apart. 
Though  perfectly  sincere  in  all  the  adora- 
tion they  offered,  they  were  less  entirely, 
and  certainly  less  diligently  and  constantly, 
her  adorers. 

It  is  the  great  praise  of  Bernardin  de  St. 
Pierre,  that  coining  immediately  after  Rous- 
seau and  Buffon  and  being  one  of  the  most 
proficient  writers  of  the  same  school,  he  was 
in  no  degree  their  imitator,  but  perfectly 
original  and  new.  He  intuitively  perceived 
the  immensity  of  the  subject  he  intended  to 
explore,  and  has  told  us  that  no  day  of  his 


BEBNABDIN  BE  ST.  PIEBEE.  7 

life  passed  'without  his  collecting  some 
valuablQ  materials  for  his  writings.  In  the 
divine  works  of  Nature,  he  diligently  sought 
to  discover  her  laws.  It  was  his  early  in- 
tention not  to  begin  to  write  until  he  had 
ceased  to  observe;  but  he  found  observa- 
tion endless,  and  that  he  was  "  like  a  child, 
who  with  a  shell  digs  a  hole  in  the  sand  ta 
receive  the  waters  of  the  ocean."  He  else- 
where humbly  says,  that  not  only  the  gen- 
eral history  of  Nature,  but  even  that  of  the 
smallest  plant,  was  far  beyond  his  ability. 
Before,  however,  speaking  further  of  him  as 
an  author,  it  will  be  necessary  to  recapitu- 
late the  chief  events  of  his  life. 

Henri- Jacques  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre, 
was  born  at  Havre  in  1737.  He  always  con- 
sidered himself  descended  from  Eustache  de 
St.  Pierre,  who  is  said  by  Froissart  (and  I 
believe  by  Froissart  only),  to  have  so  gener- 
ously offered  himself  as  a  victim  to  appease 
the  wrath  of  Edward  the  Third  against 
Calais.  He,  with  his  companions  in  virtue, 
it  is  also  said,  was  saved  by  the  intercession 
of  Queen  Philippa.  In  one  of  his  smaller 
works,  Bernardin  asserts  this  descent,  and 
it  was  certainly  one  of  which  he  might  be 


8 


MEMOIR  OF 


proud.  Many  anecdotes  are  related  of  his 
childhood,  indicative  of  the  youthful  author, 
— of  his  strong  love  of  Nature,  and  his  hu- 
manity to  animals. 

That  "the  child  is  father  of  the  man," 
has  been  seldom  more  strongly  illustrated. 
There  is  a  story  of  a  cat,  which,  when  re- 
lated by  him  many  years  afterwards  to 
Rousseau,  caused  that  philosopher  to  shed 
tears.  At  eight  years  of  age,  he  took  the 
greatest  pleasure  in  the  regular  culture  of 
his  garden ;  and  possibly  then  stored  up 
some  of  the  ideas  Avhich  afterwards  appeared 
in  the  "  Fraisier."  His  sympathy  with  all 
living  things  was  extreme. 

In  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  he  praises,  with 
evident  satisfaction,  their  meal  of  milk  and 
eggs,  which  had  not  cosf)  any  animal  its  life. 
It  has  been  remarked,  and  possibly  witiA 
truth,  that  every  tendeily  disposed  heart, 
deeply  imbued  with  a  love  of  Nature,  is  at 
times  somewhat  BramimoaL  St.  Pierre's 
certainly  was. 

When  quite  young,  be  advanced  with  a 
clenched  fist  towards  a  carter  who  was  ill- 
treating  a  horse.  And  when  taken  for  the 
^at  time,  by  his  father,  to  Rouen,  having 


BEBXABDIX  BE  ST.  PIEBBE.  9 

the  towers  of  the  cathedral  pomted  out  to 
hhn,  he  exclaimed,  "  My  God !  how  high 
they  fly."  Every  one  present  naturally 
laughed.  Bernardin  had  only  noticed  the 
flight  of  some  swallows  who  had  built  their 
nests  there.  He  thus  early  revealed  those 
instincts  which  af  terw^ards  became  the  guid- 
ance of  his  life  :  the  strength  of  which  pos- 
sibly occasioned  his  too  great  indifl:erence 
to  all  monuments  of  art.  The  love  of  study 
and  of  solitude  were  also  characteristics  of 
his  childhood.  His  temper  is  said  to  have 
been  moody,  impetuous,  and  intractable. 
Whether  this  faulty  temper  may  not  have 
been  produced  or  rendered  worse  by  mis- 
management, cannot  now  be  ascertained. 
It  undoubtedly  became  afterwards,  to  St. 
Pierre,  a  fruitful  source  of  misfortune  and 
of  woe. 

The  reading  of  voyages  was  with  him, 
even  in  childhood,  almost  a  passion.  At 
twelve  years  of  age,  his  whole  soul  was  oc- 
cupied by  Robinson  Crusoe  and  his  island. 
His  romantic  love  of  adventure  seeming  to 
his  parents  to  announce  a  predilection  in 
favor  of  the  sea,  he  was  sent  by  them  with 
one  of  his  uncles  to  Martinique.    But  SU 


10 


MEMOIB  OF 


Pierre  had  not  sufficiently  practiced  the  vir- 
tue  of  obedience  to  submit,  as  was  necessary 
to  tlie  discipline  of  a  ship.  He  was  after^ 
wards  placed  with  the  Jesuits  at  Caen,  with 
whom  he  made  immense  progress  in  his 
studies.  But,  it  is  to  be  feared,  he  did  not 
conform  too  well  to  the  regulations  of  the 
college,  for  he  conceived,  from  that  time,  the 
greatest  detestation  for  places  of  public  edu- 
cation. And  this  aversion  he  has  frequently 
testified  in  his  writings.  While  devoted  to 
his  books  of  travels,  he  in  turn  anticipated 
being  a  Jesuit,  a  missionary  or  a  martyr ; 
but  his  family  at  length  succeeded  in  estab- 
lishing him  at  Rouen,  where  he  completed 
his  studies  with  brilliant  success,  in  1757. 
He  soon  after  obtained  a  commission  as  an 
engineer,  with  a  salary  of  one  hundred  louis. 
Jn  this  capacity  he  was  sent  (1760)  to  Dussel- 
dorf,  under  the  command  of  Count  St.  Ger- 
main.' This  was  a  career  in  whic  h  he  might 
have  acquired  both  honor  and  fortune ;  but, 
most  unhappily  for  St.  Pierre,  he  looked 
upon  the  useful  and  necessary  etiquettes  of 
life  of  as  many  unworthy  prejudices.  In« 
stead  of  conforming  to  them,  he  sought  to 
trample  on  them.    In  addition,  he  evinced 


BEBNABDIX  DE  ST.  PIEBBE.  11 

some  disposition  to  rebel  against  liis  com- 
mander, and  was  unsocial  with  his  equals.  It 
is  not,  therefore,  to  be  wondered  at,  that  at 
this  unfortunate  period  of  his  existence,  he 
made  himself  enemies ;  or  that,  notwith- 
standing  his  great  talents,  or  the  coolness 
he  had  exhibited  in  moments  of  danger,  he 
should  have  been  sent  back  to  France. 
Unwelcome,  under  these  circumstances,  to 
his  family,  he  was  ill  received  by  all. 

It  is  a  lesson  yet  to  be  learned,  that  genius 
gives  no  charter  for  the  indulgence  of  error, 
— a  truth  yet  to  be  remembered,  that  only  a 
small  portion  of  the  world  will  look  with 
leniency  on  the  failings  of  the  highly  gifted ; 
and,  that  from  themselves,  the  consequences 
of  their  own  actions  can  never  be  averted.  It 
is  yet,  alas !  to  he  added  to  the  convictions  of 
the  ardent  in  mind,  that  no  degree  of  excel- 
lence in  science  or  literature,  not  even  the 
immortality  of  a  name,  can  exempt  its 
possessor  from  obedience  to  moral  disci- 
pline ;  or  give  him  happiness,  unless  "  tem- 
per's image  "  be  stamped  on  his  daily  words 
and  actions.  St.  Pierre's  life  was  sadly  em- 
bittered  by  his  own  conduct.  The  advent- 
urous life  he  led  after  his  return  from 


12 


MEMOIR  OF 


Dusseldorf,  some  of  the  circumstances  of 
which  exhibited  liim  in  an  unfavorable  hght 
to  others,  tended,  perliaps,  to  tinge  his  im- 
agination with  that  wild  and  tender  melan- 
choly so  prevalent  in  his  writings.  A 
prize  in  the  lottery  had  just  doubled  his 
very  slender  means  of  existence,  when  he 
obtained  the  appointment  of  geographical 
engineer,  and  was  sent  to  Malta.  The 
Knights  of  the  Order  were  at  this  time  ex- 
pecting to  be  attacked  by  the  Turks.  Hav- 
ing already  been  in  the  service,  it  was  sin- 
gular that  St.  Pierre  should  have  had  the 
imprudence  to  sail  without  his  commission. 
He  thus  subjected  himself  to  a  thousand 
disagreeables,  for  the  officers  would  not 
recognize  him  as  one  of  themselves.  The 
effects  of  their  neglect  on  his  mind  were 
tremendous ;  his  reason  for  a  time  seemed 
almost  disturbed  by  the  mortifications  he 
suffered.  After  receiving  an  insufficient  in- 
demnity for  the  expenses  of  his  voyage,  St. 
Pierre  returned  to  France  there  to  endure 
fresh  misfortunes. 

Not  being  able  to  obtain  any  assistance 
from  the  ministry  or  his  family,  he  resolved 
on  giving  lessons  in  the  mathematics.  But 


BEBNABDIN  BE  ST.  PIEBBE.  13 

St.  Pierre  was  less  adapted  than  most  others 
for  succeeding  in  the  apparently  easy,  but 
really  ingenious  and  diflftcult,  art  of  teaching. 
When  education  is  better  understood,  it 
will  be  more  generally  acknowledged,  that, 
to  impart  instruction  with  success,  a  teacher 
must  possess  deeper  intelligence  than  is  im- 
plied by  the  profoundest  skill  in  any  one 
branch  of  science  or  of  art.  All  minds,  even 
to  the  youngest,  require,  while  being  taught, 
the  utmost  compliance  and  consideration; 
and  these  qualities  can  scarcely  be  properly 
exercised  without  a  true  knowledge  of  the 
human  heart,  united  to  much  practical 
patience.  St.  Pierre,  at  this  period  of  his 
life,  certainly  did  not  possess  them.  It  is 
probable  that  Rousseau,  when  he  attempted 
in  his  youth  to  give  lessons  in  music,  not 
knowing  anything  whatever  of  music,  was 
scarcely  less  fitted  for  the  task  of  instruction, 
than  St.  Pierre  with  all  his  mathematical 
knowledge.  The  pressure  of  poverty  drove 
him  to  Holland.  He  was  well  received  at 
Amsterdam,  by  a  French  refugee  named 
Mustel,  who  edited  a  popular  journal  there, 
and  who  procured  him  employment,  with 
handsome  remuneration.  St.  Pierre  did  not, 


14 


MEMOIR  OF 


however,  remain  long  satisfied  with  this  quiet 
mode  of  existence.  Allured  by  the  encour- 
aging reception  given  by  Catherine  II.  to 
foreigners,  he  set  out  for  St.  Petersburg. 
Here,  until  he  obtained  the  protection  of 
the  Marechal  de  Munich,  and  the  friendship 
of  Duval,  he  had  again  to  contend  with  pov- 
erty. The  latter  generously  opened  to  him 
his  purse,  and  by  the  Marechal  he  was  in- 
troduced to  Villebois  the  Grand  Master  of 
Artillery,  and  by  him  presented  to  the  Em- 
press. St.  Pierre  was  so  handsome,  that  by 
some  of  his  friends  it  was  supposed,  perhaps, 
too,  hoped,  that  he  would  supersede  Orloff 
in  the  favor  of  Catherine.  But  more  honor- 
able illusions,  though  they  were  but  illusions, 
occupied  his  own  mind.  He  neither  sought 
nor  wished  to  captivate  the  Empress.  His 
ambition  was  to  establish  a  republic  on  the 
shores  of  the  lake  Aral,  of  which,  in  imita- 
tion of  Plato  or  Rousseau,  he  was  to  be  the 
legislator.  Preoccupied  with  the  reforma- 
tion of  despotism,  he  did  not  sufficiently 
look  into  his  own  heart,  or  seek  to  avoid 
a  repetition  of  the  same  errors  that  had 
already  changed  friends  into  enemies,  and 
been  such  a  terrible  barrier  to  his  success 


BERNARDIN  BE  ST,  PIERRE,  15 

in  life.  His  mind  was  already  morbid,  and 
in  fancying  that  others  did  not  understand 
him,  he  forgot  that  he  did  not  understand 
others.  The  Empress,  witli  the  rank  of 
captain,  bestowed  on  him  a  grant  of  fifteen- 
hundred  francs  ;  but  when  General  Dubos- 
quet  proposed  to  take  him  with  him  to  ex- 
amine the  military  position  of  Finland,  his 
only  anxiety  seemed  to  be  to  return  to 
France :  still  he  went  to  Finland ;  and  his 
own  n^tes  of  his  occupations  and  experi- 
ments on  that  expedition  prove,  that  he 
gave  himself  up  in  all  diligence  to  consider- 
ations of  attack  and  defense.  He,  who  loved 
Nature  so  intently,  seems  only  to  have  seen 
in  the  extensive  and  majestic  forests  of  the 
north,  a  theater  of  war.  In  this  instance, 
he  appears  to  have  stifled  every  emotion  of 
admiration,  and  to  have  beheld,  alike,  cities 
and  countries  in  his  character  of  military 
surveyor. 

On  his  return  to  St.  Petersburg,  he  found 
his  protector  Villebois,  disgraced.  St. 
Pierre  then  resolved  on  espousing  the  cause 
of  the  Poles.  He  went  into  Poland  with  a 
high  reputation, — that  of  having  refused  the 
favors  of  despotism,  to  aid  the  cause  of 


16 


MEMOin  OF 


liberty.  But  it  was  his  private  life,  rathei 
than  his  public  career,  that  was  affected  by 
his  residence  in  Poland.  The  Princess 
Mary  fell  in  love  with  him,  and,  forgetful 
of  all  considerations,  quitted  her  family 
to  reside  with  him.  Yielding,  however,  at 
length,  to  the  entreaties  of  her  mother,  she 
returned  to  her  home.  St.  Pierre,  filled 
with  regret,  resorted  to  Vienna ;  but,  unable 
to  support  the  sadness  which  oppressed  him, 
and  imagining  thai)  sadness  to  be  shared  by 
the  Princess,  he  soon  went  back  to  Poland. 
His  return  was  still  more  sad  than  his  de- 
parture ;  for  he  found  himself  regarded  by 
her  who  had  once  loved  him,  as  an  intruder. 
It  is  to  this  attachment  he  alludes  so  touch- 
ingly  in  one  of  his  letters.  "  Adieu !  friends 
dearer  than  the  treasures  of  India !  Adieu ! 
forests  of  the  North,  that  I  shall  never  see 
again ! — tender  friendship,  and  the  still 
dearer  sentiments  which  surpassed  it ! — days 
of  intoxication  and  of  happiness !  adieu  ! 
adieu  !  We  live  but  for  a  day,  to  die  during 
a  whole  life  !  " 

This  letter  appears  to  one  of  St.  Pierre's 
most  partial  biographers,  as  if  steeped  in 
tears ;  and  he  sneaks  of  his  romantic  and  un- 


BERJ^-'AEDIX  BE  ST.  PIERRE.  17 

fortunate  adventure  in  Poland,  as  the  ideal 
of  a  poet's  love. 

"  To  be,"  says  M.  Sainte-Beuve,  "  a  great 
poet,  and  loved  before  he  had  thought  of 
glory  !  To  exhale  the  first  perfume  of  a  soul 
of  genius,  believing  himself  only  a  lover! 
To  reveal  himself,  for  the  first  time,  entirely, 
but  in  mystery  ! " 

In  his  enthusiasm,  M.  Sainte-Beuve  loses 
sight  of  the  melancholy  sequel,  which  must 
have  left  so  sad  a  remembrance  in  St. 
Pierre's  own^  mind.  His  suffering,  from 
this  circumstance,  may  perhaps  have  con- 
duced to  his  making  Virginia  so  good  and 
true,  and  so  incapable  of  giving  pain. 

In  1766,  he  returned  to  Havre  ;  but  his 
relations  were  by  this  time  dead  or  dis- 
persed, and  after  six  years  of  exile,  he  found 
himself  once  more  in  his  own  country,  with- 
out employment  and  destitute  of  pecuniary 
resources. 

The  Baron  de  Breteuil  at  length  obtained 

for  him  a  commission  as  Engineer  to  the 

Isle  of  France,  whence  he  returned  in  1771. 

In  this  interval,  his  heart  and  imagination 

doubtless  received  the  germs  of  his  immortal 

works.   Many  of  the  events,  indeed,  of  the 
2 


18 


MEMOIR  OF 


Voyage  a  Tile  de  France,"  are  to  be  found 
modified  by  imagined  circumstances  in 
^'  Paul  and  Virginia."  He  returned  to  Paris 
poor  in  purse,  but  rich  in  observation  and 
mental  resources,  and  resolved  to  devote 
himself  to  literature.  By  the  Baron  de 
Breteuil  he  was  recommended  to  D'Alem- 
bert,   who  procured  a  publisher  for  his 

Voyage,"  and  also  introduced  him  to 
Mile,  de  FEspinasse.  But  no  one,  in  spite 
of  his  great  beauty,  was  so  ill  calculated 
to  shine  or  please  in  society  as  St.  Pierre. 
His  manners  were  timid  and  embarrassed, 
and,  unless  to  those  with  whom  he  was 
very  intimate,  he  scarcely  appeared  intelli- 
gent. 

It  is  sad  to  think,  that  misunderstanding 
should  prevail  to  such  an  extent,  and  heart 
so  seldom  really  speak  to  heart,  in  the  inter- 
course of  the  world,  that  the  most  humane 
may  appear  cruel,  and  the  sympathizing  in- 
different. Judging  of  Mile,  de  FEspinasse 
from  her  letters,  and  the  testimony  of  her 
contemporaries,  it  seems  quite  impossible 
that  she  could  have  given  pain  to  any  one, 
more  particularly  to  a  man  possessing  St. 
Pierre's  extraordinary  and  profound  sensi- 


BEBNAUBIN  BE  ST.  PIERRE. 


19 


bility.  Both  she  and  D'Alembert  were  ca  - 
pable of  appreciatmg  him  ;  but  the  society 
in  which  they  moved  laughed  at  his  timidity^ 
and  the  tone  of  raillery  in  which  they  often 
indulged  was  not  understood  by  him.  It  is 
certain  that  he  withdrew  from  their  circle 
with  wounded  and  mortified  feelings,  and, 
in  spite  of  an  explanatory  letter  from 
D'Alembert,  did  not  return  to  it.  The  in- 
flictors  of  all  this  pain,  in  the  mean  time, 
were  possibly  as  unconscious  of  the  meaning 
attached  to  their  words,  as  were  the  birds 
of  old  of  the  augury  drawn  from  their 
flight. 

St.  Pierre,  in  his  "  Preambule  de  T  Arcadie," 
has  pathetically  and  eloquently  described 
the  deplorable  state  of  his  health  and  feel- 
ings, after  frequent  humiliating  disputes 
and  disappointments  had  driven  him  from 
society  ;  or  rather,  when,  like  Rousseau,  he 
was  "self-banished "  from  it. 

"I  was  struck,"  he  says,  "with  an  ex- 
traordinary malady.  Streams  of  fire,  like 
lightning,  flashed  before  my  eyes  ;  every 
object  appeared  to  me  double,  or  in  motion ; 
like  (Edipus,  I  saw  two  suns.  ^  In  the 
finest  day  of  summer,  I  could  not  cross  the 


20 


MEMOIR  OF 


Seine  in  a  boat  without  experiencing  intoler. 
able  anxiety.  If,  in  a  public  garden,  I  merely 
passed  by  a  piece  of  water,  I  suffered  from 
spasms  and  a  feeling  of  horror.  I  could  not 
cross  a  garden  in  which  many  people  were 
collected :  if  they  looked  at  me,  I  immedi- 
ately imagined  they  were  speaking  ill  of  me." 
It  was  during  this  state  of  suffering  that  he 
devoted  himself  with  ardor  to  collecting  and 
making  use  of  materials  for  that  work  which 
was  to  give  glory  to  his  name. 

It  w^as  only  by  perseverance,  and  dis- 
regarding many  rough  and  discouraging  re- 
ceptions, that  he  succeeded  in  making  ac- 
quaintance with  Rousseau,  whom  he  so  much 
resembled.  St.  Pierre  devoted  himself  to 
his  society  with  enthusiasm,  visiting  him 
frequently  and  constantly,  till  Rousseau 
departed  for  Ermenonville.  It  is  not  un- 
worthy of  remark,  that  both  these  men,  such 
enthusiastic  admirers  of  Nature  and  the 
natural  in  all  things,  should  have  possessed 
factitious  rather  than  practical  virtue,  and 
a  wisdom  wholly  unfitted  for  the  world. 
St.  Pierre  asked  Rousseau,  in  one  of  their 
frequent  rambles,  if  in  delineating  St.  Preux, 
he  had  not  intended  to  represent  himself. 


BEBNARDIX  DE  ST.  PIEBRE,  21 

"  No,"  replied  Rousseau,  "  St  Preux  is  not 
what  I  have  been,  but  what  I  wish  to  be." 
St.  Pierre  would  most  likely  have  given  the 
same  answer,  had  a  similar  question  been 
put  to  him  with  regard  to  the  Colonel  in 
"  Paul  and  Virginia."  This  at  least,  appears 
the  sort  of  old  age  he  loved  to  contemplate, 
and  wished  to  realize. 

For  six  years,  he  worked  at  his  "  Etudes," 
and  with  some  difficulty  found  a  publisher 
for  them.  M.  Didot,  a  celebrated  typog- 
rapher, whose  daughter  St.  Pierre  after- 
wards married,  consented  to  print  a  manu- 
script which  had  been  declined  by  many 
others.  He  was  well  rewarded  for  the  un- 
dertaking. The  success  of  the  "  Etudes  de 
la  Nature"  surpassed  the  most  sanguine 
expectation,  even  of  the  author.  Four  years 
after  its  publication,  St.  Pierre  gave  to  the 
world  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  which  had  for 
some  time  been  lying  in  his  portfolio.  He 
had  tried  its  effect,  in  manuscript,  on  per- 
sons of  different  characters  and  pursuits. 
They  had  given  it  no  applause  ;  but  all  had 
shed  tears  at  its  perusal :  and  perhaps  few 
works  of  a  decidedly  romantic  character 
have  ever  been  so  generally  read,  or  so  much 


22 


MEMOIB  OF 


approved.  Among  the  great  names  whose 
admiration  of  it  is  on  record,  may  be  men^ 
tioned  Napoleon  and  Humboldt. 

In  1789,  he  published  "Les  Voeux  d'un 
Solitaire,"  and  "  La  Suite  des  Voeux."  By 
the  Moniteiir  of  the  day,  these  works  were 
compared  to  the  celebrated  pamphlet  of 
Sieyes, — "Qu'est-ce  que  le  tiers  etat?" 
which  then  absorbed  all  the  public  favor. 
In  1791,  "La  Chaumiere  Indienne"  was 
published :  and  in  the  following  year,  about 
thirteen  days  before  the  celebrated  lOtli  of 
August,  Louis  XYI.  appointed  St.  Pierre 
superintendent  of  the  "  Jardin  des  Plantes." 
Soon  afterwards,  the  King,  on  seeing  him, 
€omplimented  him  on  his  writings,  and  told 
him  he  was  happy  to  have  found  a  worthy 
successor  to  Buffon. 

Although  deficient  in  the  exact  knowledge 
of  the  sciences,  and  knowing  little  of  the 
world,  St.  Pierre  was,  by  his  simplicity,  and 
the  retirement  in  which  he  lived,  well  suited, 
at  that  epoch,  to  the  situation.  About  this 
time,  and  when  in  his  fifty-seventh  year,  he 
married  Mile.  Didot. 

In  1795,  he  became  a  member  of  the 
French  Academy,  and,  as  was  just,  after  his 


BEBNARBIN  BE  ST.  PIEBBE.  2a 


acceptance  of  this  honor,  he  wrote  no  more 
against  literary  societies.  On  the  suppres- 
sion of  his  place,  he  retired  to  Essonne.  It 
is  delightful  to  follow  him  there,  and  to 
contemplate  his  quiet  existence.  His  days 
flowed  on  peaceably,  occupied  in  the  publi- 
cation of  ^'Les  Harmonies  de  la  Nature," 
the  republication  of  his  earlier  works,  and 
the  composition  of  some  lesser  pieces.  He 
himself  alt'ectingly  regrets  an  interruption 
to  these  occupations.  On  being  appointed 
Instructor  to  the  Xormal  School,  he  says,. 
"  I  am  obliged  to  hang  my  harp  on  the  wil- 
lows of  my  river,  and  to  accept  an  employ- 
ment useful  to  my  family  and  my  country. 
I  am  afflicted  at  having  to  suspend  an  occu- 
pation which  has  given  me  so  much  happi- 
ness." 

He  enjoyed  in  his  old  age  a  degree  of  opu- 
lence which,  as  much  as  glory,  had  perliaps^ 
been  the  object  of  his  ambition.  In  any 
case,  it  is  gratifying  to  reflect,  tliat  after  a 
life  so  full  of  chance  and  change,  he  was,  in 
his  latter  years,  surrounded  by  much  that 
should  accompany  old  age.  His  day  of 
storms  and  tempests  was  closed  by  an  even* 
ing  of  repose  and  beauty. 


24 


MEMOIR  OF 


Amid  many  other  blessings,  the  elasticity 
of  his  mind  was  preserved  to  the  last.  He 
died  at  Eragny  sur  I'Oise,  on  the  21st  of 
January,  1814.  The  stirring  events  which 
then  occupied  France,  or  rather  the  whole 
world,  caused  his  death  to  be  little  noticed 
at  the  time.  The  Academy  did  not,  how- 
ever, neglect  to  give  him  the  honor  due  to 
its  members.  Mons.  Parseval  Grand  Maison 
pronounced  a  deserved  eulogium  on  his  tal- 
ents, and  Mons.  Aignan,  also,  the  customary 
tribute,  taking  his  seat  as  his  successor. 

Having  himself  contracted  the  habit  of 
confiding  his  griefs  and  sorrows  to  the  pub- 
lic, the  sanctuary  of  his  private  life  was 
open  alike  to  the  discussion  of  friends  and 
enemies.  The  biographer,  who  wishes  to  be 
exact,  and  yet  set  down  nought  in  malice,  is 
forced  to  the  contemplation  of  his  errors. 
The  secret  of  many  of  these,  as  well  as  of 
his  miseries,  seems  revealed  by  himself  in 
this  sentence :  "  I  experience  more  pain 
from  a  single  thorn,  than  pleasure  from  a 
thousand  roses."  And  elsewhere, "  The  best 
society  seems  to  me  bad,  if  I  find  in  it  one 
troublesome,  wicked^  slanderous,  envious,  or 
perfidious  person."    Now,  taking  into  coiv 


BEBNABBIN  DE  ST.  PIEEBE,  25 


sideration  that  St.  Pierre  sometimes  imag- 
ined persons  who  were  really  good,  to  be 
deserving  of  these  strong  and  very  contu- 
macious epithets,  it  would  have  been  diffi- 
cult indeed  to  find  a  society  in  which  he 
could  have  been  happy.  He  was  therefore 
wise  in  seeking  retirement,  and  inclulging 
in  solitude.  His  mistakes, — for  they  were 
mistakes, — arose  from  a  too  quick  percep- 
tion of  evil,  united  to  an  exquisite  and  dif- 
fuse sensibility.  When  he  felt  wounded  by 
a  thorn,  he  forgot  the  beauty  and  perfume 
of  the  rose  to  which  it  belonged,  and  from 
which  perhaps  it  could  not  be  separated. 
And  he  was  exposed  (as  often  happens)  to 
the  ve^y  description  of  trials  that  were  least 
in  harmony  with  his  defects.  Few  disposi- 
tions could  have  run  a  career  like  his,  and 
have  remained  unscathed.  But  one  less  ten- 
der than  his  own  would  have  been  less 
soured  by  it.  For  many  years,  he  bore 
about  with  him  the  consciousness  of  unac- 
knowledged talent.  The  world  cannot  be 
blamed  for  not  appreciating  that  which  had 
never  been  revealed.  But  we  know  not 
what  the  jostling  and  elbowing  of  that 
world,  in  the  mean  time,  may  have  been  to 


26 


MEMOIR  OF 


him — ^how  often  he  may  have  felt  himself 
unworthily  treated — or  how  far  that  treat- 
ment may  have  preyed  upon  and  corroded 
his  heart.  Who  shall  say  that  with  this 
consciousness  there  did  not  mingle  a  quick 
and  instinctive  perception  of  the  hidden  mo- 
tives of^action, — that  he  did  not  sometimes 
cletect,  where  others  might  have  been  blind, 
the  under-shuffling  of  the  hands,  in  the  by- 
play of  the  world  ? 

Through  all  his  writings,  and  throughout 
his  correspondence,  there  are  beautiful  proofs 
of  the  tenderness  of  his  feelings, — the  most 
essential  quality,  perhaps,  in  any  writer.  It 
is  at  least  one  that  if  not  possessed,  can 
never  be  attained.  The  familiarity  .of  his 
imagination  with  natural  objects,  when  he 
was  living  far  removed  from  them,  is  remark- 
able, and  often  affecting. 

"  I  have  arranged,"  he  says  to  Mr.  Ilenin, 
his  friend  and  patron,  "very  interesting 
materials,  but  it  is  only  with  the  light  of 
Heaven  over  me  that  I  can  recover  my 
strength.  Obtain  for  me  a  rabbit's  hole,  in 
which  I  may  pass  the  summer  in  the  coun- 
try." And  again,  "  With  the  first  violet^  I 
shall  come  to  see  you."    It  is  soothing  to 


BEBNABBIN  BE  ST.  PIEBBE.  27 

find,  in  passages  like  these,  such  pleasing 
and  convincing  evidence  that 

"  Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her." 

In  the  noise  of  a  great  city,  in  the  midst 
of  annoyances  of  many  kinds,  these  images, 
impi^ssed  with  quietness  and  beauty,  came 
back  to  the  mind  of  St.  Pierre,  to  cheer  and 
animate  him. 

In  alluding  to'his  miseries,  it  is  but  fair  to 
quote  a  passage  from  his  "  Voyage,"  which 
reveals  his  fond  remembrance  of  his  native 
land.  I  should  ever  prefer  my  own  coun- 
try to  every  other,"  he  says,  "  not  because 
it  was  more  beautiful,  but  because  I  was 
brought  up  in  it.  Happy  he,  wiio  sees  again 
the  places  where  all  was  loved,  and  all  was 
lovely  ! — the  meadoAvs  in  which  he  played, 
and  the  orchard  that  he  robbed !  " 

He  returned  to  this  country,  so  fondly 
loved  and  deeply  cherished  in  absence,  to 
experience  only  trouble  and  difficulty. 
Away  from  it,  he  had  yearned  to  behold  it, 
— to  fold  it,  as  it  were,  once  more  to  his 
bosom.  He  returned  to  feel  as  if  neglected 
by  it,  and  all  his  rapturous  emotions  were 


28 


MEMOIB  OF 


changed  to  bitterness  and  gall.  His  hopes 
had  proved  delusions — his  expectations, 
mockeries.  Oh!  Avho  but  must  look  with 
charity  and  mercy  on  all  discontent  and  irri- 
tation consequent  on  such  a  depth  of  disap- 
pointment :  on  what  must  have  then  ap- 
peared to  him  such  unmitigable  woe.  Und(ir 
the  influence  of  these  saddened  feelings,  his 
thoughts  flew  back  to  the  island  he  had  left, 
to  place  all  beauty,  as  well  as  all  happiness 
there ! 

One  great  proof  that  he  did  beautify  the 
distant,  may  be  found  in  the  contrast  of 
some  of  the  descriptions  in  the  "Voyage 
a  rile  de  France,"  and  those  in  "Paul  and 
Virginia."  That  spot,  which,  when  peopled 
by  the  cherished  creatures  of  his  imagina- 
tion, he  described  as  an  enchanting  and  de- 
lightful Eden,  he  had  previously  spoken  of  as 
a  "  rugged  country  covered  with  rocks," — . 
"  a  land  of  Cyclops  blackened  by  fire." 
Truth,  probably,  lies  between  the  two 
representations ;  the  sadness  of  exile  hav- 
ing darkened  the  one,  and  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  imagination  embellished  the 
other. 

St.  Pierre'^s  merit  as  an  author  has  been 


BEBNABDIN  BE  ST.  PIEREE,  29 

too  long  and  too  universally  acknowledged, 
to  make  it  needful  that  it  should  be  dwelt 
on  here.  A  careful  review  of  the  circum- 
stances of  his  life  induces  the  belief,  that 
his  writings  grew  (if  it  may  be  permitted  so 
to  speak)  out  of  his  life.  In  his  most  im- 
aginative passages,  to  whatever  height  his 
fancy  soared,  the  starting  point  seems 
ever  from  a  fact.  The  past  appears  to  have 
been  always  spread  out  before  him  when  he 
wrote,  like  a  beautiful  landscape,  on  which 
his  eye  rested  with  complacency,  and  from 
which  his  mind  transferred  and  idealized 
some  objects,  without  a  servile  imitation  of 
any.  When  at  Berlin,  he  had  had  it  in  his 
power  to  marry  Virginia  Tabenheim;  and 
in  Russia,  Mile,  de  la  Tour,  the  niece  of 
General  Dubosquet,  would  have  accepted 
his  hand.  He  was  too  poor  to  marry  either. 
A  grateful  recollection  caused  him  to  bestow 
the  names  of  the  two  on  his  most  beloved 
oreation.  Paul  was  the  name  of  a  friar, 
with  whom  he  had  associated  in  his  child- 
liood,  and  whose  life  he  wished  to  imitate. 
How  little  had  the  owners  of  these  names 
anticipated  that  they  were  to  become  the 
baptismal  appellations  of  half  a  generation 


30 


MEMOIB  OF 


ill  France,  and  to  be  re-echoed  through  the 
world  to  the  end  of  time ! 

It  was  St.  Pierre  who  first  discovered  the 
poverty  of  language  with  regard  to  pictur- 
esque descriptions.  In  his  earliest  work,  the 
often-quoted  "  Voyage,"  he  complains  that 
the  terms  for  describing  nature  are  not  yet 
invented.  "  Endeavor,"  he  says,  "  to  de- 
scribe a  mountain  in  such  a  manner  that  it 
may  be  recognized.  When  you  have  spoken 
of  its  base,  its  sides,  its  summits,  you  will 
have  said  all !  But  Avhat  variety  there  is  to 
be  found  in  those  swelling,  lengthened,  flat- 
tened, or  cavernous  forms !  It  is  only  by 
periphrasis  that  all  this  can  be  expressed/ 
The  same  difficulty  exists  for  plains  and 
valleys.  But  if  you  have  a  palace  to  de- 
scribe, there  is  no  longer  any  difficulty. 
Every  molding  has  its  appropriate  name. 

It  was  St.  Pierre's  glory,  in  some  degree, 
to  triumph  over  this  dearth  of  expression. 
Few  authors  ever  introduced  more  new 
terms  into  descriptive  writing :  yet  are  his 
innovations  ever  chastened,  and  in  good 
taste.  His  style,  in  its  elegant  simplicity, 
is,  indeed,  perfection.  It  is  at  once  sonorous 
and  sweet,  and  always  in  harmony  with  the 


BEBNABBIN  BE  ST.  PIEBBE.  31 

sentiment  he  would  express,  or  the  subject 
he  would  discuss.  Chenier  might  well  arm 
himself  with  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  and  the 
"  Chaumiere  Indienne,"  in  opposition  to 
those  writers,  who,  as  he  said,  made  prose 
unnatural,  by  seeking  to  elevate  it  into 
Terse. 

The  "  Etudes  de  la  Xature  "  embraced  a 
thousand  different  subjects,  and  contained 
some  new  ideas  on  all.  It  is  to  the  honor 
of  human  nature,  that  after  the  uptearing 
of  so  many  sacred  opinions,  a  production 
like  this  revealing  the  chain  of  connection 
through  the  works  of  Creation,  and  the 
Creator  in  his  works,  should  have  been 
hailed,  as  it  was,  with  enthusiasm. 

His  motto,  from  his  favorite  poet  Virgil, 
"  Taught  by  calamity,  I  pity  the  unhappy," 
won  for  him,  perhaps,  many  readers.  And 
in  its  touching  illusions,  the  unhappy  may 
have  found  suspension  from  the  realities  of 
life,  as  well  as  encouragement  to  support  its 
trials.  For,  throughout,  it  infuses  admira- 
tion of  the  arrangements  of  Providence,  and 
a  desire  for  virtue.  More  than  one  modern 
poet  may  be  supposed  to  have  drawn  a  por- 
tion of  his  inspiration,  from  the  "  Etudes. " 


82 


MEMOIR  OF 


As  a  work  of  science  it  contains  many  errors. 
These,  particularly  his  theory  of  the  tides,=* 
St.  Pierre  maintained  to  the  last,  and  so  elo- 
quently, that  it  Avas  said  at  the  time,  to  be 
impossible  to  unite  less  reason  with  more 
logic. 

In  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  he  was  supremely 
fortunate  in  his  subject.  It  was  an  entirely 
new  creation,  uninspired  by  any  previous 
work ;  but  which  gave  birth  to  many  others, 
having  furnished  the  plot  to  six  theatrical 
pieces.  It  was  a  subject  to  which  the 
author  could  brins:  all  his  excellences  as  a 
writer  and  man,  while  his  deficiencies  and  de- 
fects were  necessarily  excluded.  In  no  man- 
ner could  he  incorporate  politics,  science, 
or  misapprehension  of  persons,  while  his 
sensibility,  morals,  and  wonderful  talent 
for  description,  were  in  perfect  accordance 
with,  and  ornaments  to  it.  Lemontey  and 
Sainte-Beuve  both  consider  success  to  be 
inseparable  from  the  happy  selection  of 
a  story  so  entirely  in  harmony  with  the 
character  of  the  author  ;  and  that  the  most 
successful  writers  might  envy  him  so  for- 

*  Occasioned,  according  to  St.  Pierre,  by  the  melt/ 
Ing  of  the  ice  at  the  Poles. 


BEBNABBIN  BE  ST,  PIEBBE.  33 


tunate  a  choice.  Bonaparte  was  in  the  habit 
of  saying,  whenever  he  ^saw  St.  Pierre,  "  M. 
Bernardin,  when  do  you  mean  to  give  us 
more  Pauls  and  Virginias,  and  Indian  Cot- 
tages ?  You  ought  to  give  us  some  every 
six  months." 

The  "  Indian  Cottage,"  if  not  quite  equal 
in  interest  to  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  is  still  a 
charming  production,  and  does  great  honor 
to  the  genius  of  its  author.  It  abounds 
in  antique  and  Eastern  gems  of  thought. 
Striking  and  excellent  comparisons  are  scat- 
tered through  its  pages  ;  and  it  is  delightful 
to  reflect,  that  the  following  beautiful  and 
solemn  answer  of  the  Paria  was,  with  St. 
Pierre,  the  result  of  his  own  experience  : — 
"Misfortune  resembles  the  Black  Mountain 
of  Bember,  situated  at  the  extremity  of  the 
burning  kingdom  of  Lahore ;  while  you  are 
climbing  it,  you  only  see  before  you  barren 
xocks ;  but  when  you  have  reached  its  sum- 
mit, you  see  heaven  above  your  head,  and 
at  your  feet  the  kingdom  of  Cachemere." 

When  this  passage  was  written,  the  rug- 
ged and  sterile  rock  had  been  climbed  by 
its  gifted  author.  He  had  reached  the  sum- 
mit,— his  genius  had  been  rewarded,  and  he 
8 


84:       BERNABBIN  BE  ST,  PIERRE. 


himself  saw  the  heaven  he  wished  to  point 
out  to  others.  Sakah  Jones. 

For  the  facts  contained  in  this  brief  Memoir,  I 
am  indebted  to  St.  Pierre's  own  works,  to  the  "  Bio- 
graphic Universelle,"  to  the  "  Essai  sur  la  Yie  et 
les  Ouvrages  de  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,"  by  M. 
Aime  Martin,  and  to  the  very  excellent  and  interest* 
ing  Notice  Historique  et  Litteraire,"  of  M.  Saintc 
Bduve* 


PAUL  AND  YIEGINIA. 


Situate  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  mount- 
ain which  rises  above  Port  Louis,  in  the 
'  Mauritius,  upon  a  piece  of  land  bearing  the 
marks  of  former  cultivatian,  are  seen  the 
ruins  of  two  small  cottages.  These  ruins 
are  not  far  from  the  center  of  a  valley, 
formed  by  immense  rocks,  and  which  opens 
only  towards  the  north.  On  the  left  rises 
the  mountain  called  the  Height  of  Discovery, 
whence  the  eye  marks  the  distant  sail  when 
it  first  touches  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  and 
whence  the  signal  is  given  when  a  vessel 
approaches  the  island.  At  the  foot  of  this 
mountain  stands  the  town  of  Port  Louis. 
On  the  right  is  formed  the  road  which 
stretches  from  Port  Louis  to  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  where  the  church  bearing  that  name 
lifts  its  head,  surrounded  by  its  avenues  of 
bamboo,  in  the  middle  of  a  spacious  plain ; 

35 


36 


PAUL  AND  VIEGINIA. 


and  the  prospect  terminates  in  a  forest 
extending  to  the  furthest  bounds  of  the 
island.  The  front  view  presents  the  bay, 
denominated  the  Bay  of  the  Tomb ;  a  little 
on  the  right  is  seen  the  Cape  of  Misfortune  ; 
and  beyond  rolls  the  expanded  ocean,  on  the 
surface  of  which  appear  a  few  uninhabited 
islands ;  and,  among  others,  the  Point  of 
Endeavor,  which  resembles  a  bastion  built 
upon  the  flood. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  valley  which  pre- 
sents these  various  objects,  the  echoes  of  the 
mountain  incessantly  repeat  the  hollow  mur- 
murs of  the  winds  that  shake  the  neighbor- 
ing forests,  and  the  tumultuous  dashing  oi 
the  waves  which  break  at  a  distance  upon 
the  cliffs ;  but  near  the  ruined  cottages  all  is 
calm  and  still,  and  the  only  objects  which 
there  meet  the  eye  are  rude  steep  rocks, 
that  rise  like  a  surrounding  rampart.  Large 
clumps  of  trees  grow  at  their  base,  on  their 
rifted  sides,  and  even  on  their  majestic  tops, 
where  the  clouds  seem  to  repose.  The 
showers,  which  their  bold  points  attract, 
often  paint  the  vivid  colors  of  the  rainbow 
on  their  green  and  brown  declivities,  and 
swell  the  sources  of  the  little  river  which 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


37 


flows  at  their  feet,  called  the  river  of  Fan- 
Palms.  Within  this  inclosure  reigns  the 
most  profound  silence.  The  waters,  the  air, 
all  the  elements  are  at  peace.  Scarcely  does 
the  echo  repeat  the  whispers  of  the  palm- 
trees,  spreading  their  broad  leaves,  the  long 
points  of  which  are  gently  agitated  by  the 
winds.  A  soft  light  illumines  the  bottom  of 
this  deep  valley,  on  which  the  sun  shines 
only  at  noon.  But,  even  at  break  of  day, 
the  rays  of  light  are  thrown  on  the  surround- 
ing rocks;  and  their  sharp  peaks,  rising 
above  the  shadows  of  the  mountain,  appear 
like  tints  of  gold  and  purple  gleaming  upon 
the  azure  sky. 

To  this  scene  I  loved  to  resort,  as  I  could 
here  enjoy  at  once  the  richness  of  an  un- 
bounded landscape,  and  the  charm  of  unin- 
terrupted solitude.  One  day,  when  I  was 
seated  at  the  foot  of  the  cottages,  and  con- 
templating their  ruins,  a  man,  advanced  in 
years,  passed  near  the  spot.  He  was  dressed 
in  the  ancient  garb  of  the  island,  his  feet 
were  bare,  and  he  leaned  upon  a  staff  of 
ebony :  his  hair  was  white,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance  was  dignified 
and  interesting.    I  bowed  to  him  with  re- 


38  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


spect ;  he  returned  the  salutation ;  and, 
after  looking  at  me  with  some  earnestness, 
came  and  placed  himself  upon  the  hillock 
on  which  I  was  seated.  Encouraged  by  this 
mark  of  confidence  I  thus  addressed  him. : 
^'  Father,  can  you  tell  me  to  whom  those 
cottages  once  belonged  ?  " — "  My  son,"  re- 
plied the  old  man,  "  those  heaps  of  rubbish, 
and  that  untilled  land,  Avere,  twenty  years 
ago,  the  property  of  two  families,  who  then 
found  happiness  in  this  solitude.  Their 
history  is  affecting;  but  what  European, 
pursuing  his  way  to  the  Indies,  w^ill  pause 
one  moment  to  interest  himself  in  the  fate 
of  a  few  obscure  individuals  ?  What  Euro- 
pean can  picture  happiness  to  his  imagina- 
tion amidst  poverty  and  neglect?  The 
curiosity  of  mankind  is  only  attracted  by 
the  history  of  the  great,  and  yet  from  that 
knowledge  little  use  can  be  derived." — 
Father,"  I  rejoined,  "  from  your  manner 
and  your  observations,  I  perceive  that  you 
have  acquired  much  experience  of  human 
life.  If  you  have  leisure,  relate  to  me,  I 
beseech  you,  the  history  of  the  ancient 
inhabitants  of  this  desert ;  and  be  assured, 
that  even  the  men  who  are  most  perverted 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  39 

by  the  prejudices  of  the  world,  find  a  sooth- 
ing pleasure  in  contemplating  that  happiness 
which  belongs  to  simplicity  and  virtue." 
The  old  man,  after  a  short  silence,  during 
which  he  leaned  his  face  upon  his  hands,  as 
if  he  were  trying  to  recall  the  images  of  the 
past,  thus  began  his  narration : — 

Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  a  young  man  who 
was  a  native  of  Normandy,  after  having  in 
vain  solicited  a  commission  in  the  French 
army,  or  some  support  from  his  OAvn  family, 
at  length  determined  to  seek  his  fortune  in 
this  island,  where  he  arrived  in  1726.  He 
brought  hither  a  young  woman,  whom  he 
loved  tenderly,  and  by  whom  he  was  no  less 
tenderly  beloved.  She  belonged  to  a  rich 
and  ancient  family  of  the  same  province : 
but  he  had  married  her  secretly  and  with- 
out fortune,  and  in  opposition  to  the  will  of 
her  relations,  who  refused  their  consent  be- 
cause he  was  found  guilty  of  being  descended 
from  parents  who  had  no  claims  to  nobility. 
Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  leaving  his  wife  at 
Port  Louis,  embarked  for  Madagascar,  in 
order  to  purchase  a  few  slaves,  to  assist  him 
in  forming  a  plantation  on  this  island.  He 
landed  at  Madagascar  during  that  unhealthy 


40 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


season  which  commences  about  the  middle 
of  October  ;  and  soon  after  his  arrival  died 
of  the  pestilential  fever,  which  prevails  in 
that  island  six  months  of  the  year,  and 
which  will  forever  baffle  the  attempts  of  the 
European  nations  to  form  establishments  on 
that  fatal  soil.  His  effects  were  seized  upon 
by  the  rapacity  of  strangers,  as  commonly 
happens  to  persons  dying  in  foreign  parts ; 
and  his  wife,  who  was  pregnant,  found  her- 
self a  widow  in  a  country  where  she  had 
neither  credit  nor  acquaintance,  and  no 
earthly  possession,  or  rather  support,  but 
one  negro  woman.  Too  delicate  to  solicit 
protection  or  relief  from  any  one  else  after 
the  death  of  him  whom  alone  she  loved, 
misfortune  armed  her  with  courage,  and  she 
resolved  to  cultivate,  with  her  slave,  a  little 
spot  of  ground,  and  procure  for  herself  the 
means  of  subsistence. 

Desert  as  was  the  island,  and  the  ground 
left  to  the  choice  of  the  settler,  she  avoided 
those  spots  which  were  most  fertile  and 
most  favorable  to  commerce :  seeking  some 
nook  of  the  mountain,  some  secret  asylum 
where  she  might  live  solitary  and  unknown, 
she  bent  her  way  from  the  town  towards 


FAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  41 


these  rocks,  where  she  might  conceal  her- 
self from  observation.  All  sensitive  and 
suffering  creatures,  from  a  sort  of  common 
instinct,  fly  for  refuge  amidst  their  pains  to 
haunts  the  most  wild  and  desolate;  as  if 
rocks  could  form  a  rampart  against  misfor- 
tune— as  if  the  calm  of  Nature  could  hush 
the  tumults  of  the  soul. .  That  Providence, 
which  lends  its  support  when  we  ask  but 
the  supply  of  our  necessary  wants,  had  a 
blessing  in  reserve  for  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
which  neither  riches  nor  greatness  can  pur- 
chase : — this  blessing  was  a  friend. 

The  spot  to  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  had 
fled  had  already  been  inhabited  for  a  year 
by  a  young  woman  of  a  lively,  good-natured 
and  affectionate  disposition.  Margaret  (for 
that  was  her  name)  was  born  in  Brittany, 
of  a  family  of  peasants,  by  whom  she  was 
cherished  and  beloved,  and  with  whom  she 
might  have  passed  through  life  in  simple 
rustic  happiness,  if,  misled  by  the  weakness 
of  a  tender  heart,  she  had  not  listened  to 
the  passion  of  a  gentleman  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, who  promised  her  marriage.  He  soon 
abandoned  her,  and  adding  inhumanity  to 
seduction,  refused  to  insure  a  provision  for 


42 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


the  child  of  which  she  was  pregnant.  Mar- 
garet then  determined  to  leave  forever  her 
native  village,  and  retire,  where  her  fault 
might  be  concealed,  to  some  colony  distant 
from  that  country  where  she  had  lost  the 
only  portion  of  a  poor  peasant  girl — her  rep- 
utation. With  some  borrowed  money  she 
purchased  an  old  negro  slave,  with  whom 
she  cultivated  a  little  corner  of  this  district. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  followed  by  her  negro 
woman,  came  to  this  spot,  where  she  found 
Margaret  engaged  in  suckling  her  child. 
Soothed  and  charmed  by  the  sight  of  a  per- 
son in  a  situation  somewhat  similar  to  her 
own,  Madame  de  la  Tour  related,  in  a  few 
v/ords,  her  past  condition  and  her  present 
wants.  Margaret  was  deeply  afifected  by 
the  recital ;  and  more  anxious  to  merit  con- 
fidence than  to  create  esteem,  she  confessed 
without  disguise,  the  errors  of  which  she 
had  been  guilty.  "As  for  me,"  said  she, 
"  I  deserve  my  fate :  but  you,  madam — you ! 
at  once  virtuous  and  unhappy  " — and,  sob- 
bing, she  offered  Madame  de  la  Tour  both 
her  hut  and  her  friendship.  That  lady, 
affected  by  this  tender  reception,  pressed 
her  in  her  arms,  and  exclaimed, — "  Ah, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


43 


surely  Heaven  has  put  an  end  to  my  mis- 
fortunes, since  it  inspires  you,  to  whom  I 
am  a  stranger,  with  more  goodness  towards 
me  than  I  have  ever  experienced  from  my 
own  relations ! " 

I  was  acquainted  with  Margaret :  and, 
although  my  habitation  is  a  league  and  a 
half  from  hence^  in  the  woods  behind  that 
sloping  mountain,  I  considered  myself  as 
her  neighbor.  In  the  cities  of  Europe,  a 
street,  even  a  simple  wall,  frequently  pre- 
vents members  of  the  same  family  from 
meeting  for  years ;  but  in  new  colonies  we 
consider  those  persons  as  ueighbors  from 
whom  v/e  are  divided  only  by  woods  and 
mountains  ;  and  above  all  at  that  period, 
when  this  island  had  little  intercourse  with 
the  Indies,  vicinity  alone  gave  a  claim  to 
friendship,  and  hospitality  towards  strangers 
seemed  less  a  duty  than  a  pleasure.  No 
sooner  was  I  informed  that  Margaret  had 
found  a  companion,  than  I  hastened  to  her, 
Tji  the  hope  of  being  useful  to  my  neighbor 
and  her  guest.  I  found  Madame  de  la  Tour 
possessed  of  all  those  melancholy  graces 
-v^hich,  by  blending  sympathy  with  admira- 
tion gave  to  beauty  additional  power.  Her 


44 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


countenance  was  interesting,  expressive  at 
once  of  dignity  and  dejection.  Slie  appeared 
to  be  in  tlie  last  stage  of  lier  pregnancy.  I 
told  the  two  friends  that  for  the  future  in- 
terest of  their  children,  and  to  prevent  the 
intrusion  of  any  other  settler,  they  had  bet- 
ter divide  between  them  the  property  of 
this  wild,  sequestered  valley,  which  is  nearly 
twenty  acres  in  extent.  They  confided  that 
task  to  me,  and  I  marked  out  two  equal 
portions  of  land.  One  included  the  higher 
part  of  this  inclosure,  from  the  cloudy  pin- 
nacle of  that  rock,  whence  springs  the  river 
of  Fan-Palms,  to  that  precipitous  cleft 
which  you  see  on  the  summit  of  the  mount- 
ain, and  which,  from  its  resemblance  in 
form  to  the  battlement  of  a  fortress,  is 
called  the  Embrasure.  It  is  difficult  to  find 
a  path  along  this  wild  portion  of  the  enclos- 
ure, the  soil  of  which  is  encumbered  with 
fragments  of  rock,  or  worn  into  channels 
formed  by  torrents ;  yet  it  produces  noble 
trees,  and  innumerable  springs  and  rivulets. 
The  other  portion  of  land  comprised  the 
plain  extending  along  the  banks  of  the  river 
of  Fan-Palms,  to  the  opening  where  we  are 
now  seated,  whence  the  river  takes  its 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  45 


course  between  those  two  hills,  until  it  falls 
into  the  sea.  You  may  still  trace  the  ves- 
tiges of  some  meadow  land ;  and  this  part 
of  the  common  is  less  rugged,  but  not  more 
valuable  than  the  other ;  since  in  the  rainy- 
season  it  becomes  marshy,  and  in  dry 
weather  is  so  hard  and  unyielding,  that  it 
will  almost  resist  the  stroke  of  a  pickax. 
When  I  had  thus  divided  the  property,  I 
persuaded  my  neighbors  to  draw  lots  for 
their  respective  possessions.  The  higher 
portion  of  land,  containing  the  source  of  the 
river  of  Fan-Palms,  became  the  property  of 
Madame  de  la  Tour ;  the  lower,  comprising 
the  plain  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  was 
allotted  to  Margaret ;  and  each  seemed  satis- 
fied with  her  share.  They  entreated  me  to 
place  their  habitations  together,  that  they 
might  at  all  times  enjoy  the  soothing  inter- 
course of  friendship,  and  the  consolation 
of  mutual  kind  offices.  Margaret's  cottage 
was  situated  near  the  center  of  the  valley, 
and  just  on  the  boundary  of  her  own  planta- 
tion. Close  to  that  spot  I  built  another  cot- 
tage for  the  residence  of  Madame  de  la  Tour ; 
and  thus  the  two  friends,  while  they  pos- 
sessed all  the  advantages  of  neighborhood. 


46  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

lived  on  their  own  property.  I  myself  cut 
palisades  from  the  mountain,  and  brought 
leaves  of  fan-palms  from  the  sea-shore  in 
order  to  construct  those  two  cottages,  of 
which  you  can  now  discern  neither  the  en- 
trance nor  the  roof.  Yet,  alas!  there  still 
remain  but  too  many  traces  for  my  remem- 
brance !  Time,  which  so  rapidly  destroys 
the  proud  monuments  of  empires,  seems  in 
this  desert  to  spare  those  of  friendship,  as 
if  to  perpetuate  my  regrets  to  the  last  hour 
of  my  existence. 

As  soon  as  the  second  cottage  was  fxnished, 
Madame  de  la  Tour  was  delivered  of  a  girl. 
I  had  been  the  godfather  of  Margaret's 
child,  who  was  cliristened  by  the  name  of 
Paul.  Madame  de  la  Tour  desired  me  to 
perform  the  same  office  for  her  child  also, 
together  with  her  friend,  who  gave  her  the 
name  of  Virginia.  "  She  will  be  virtuous," 
cried  Margaret,  "  and  she  will  be  happy.  I 
have  only  known  misfortune  by  wandering 
from  virtue." 

About  the  time  Madame  de  la  Tour  recov- 
ered, these  two  little  estates  had  already 
begun  to  yield  some  produce,  perhaps  in  a 
small  degree  owing  to  the  care  which  I  oc- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


47 


casionally  bestowed  on  their  improvement, 
but  far  more  to  the  indefatigable  labors  of 
the  two  slaves.  Margaret's  slave,  who  was 
called  Domingo,  was  still  healthy  and  ro- 
bust, though  advanced  in  years:  he  pos- 
sessed  some  knowledge,  and  a  good  natural 
understanding.  He  cultivated  indiscrimi- 
nately, on  both  plantations,  the  spots  ot 
ground  that  seemed  most  fertile,  and  sowed 
whatever  grain  he  thought  most  congenial 
to  each  particular  soil.  Where  the  ground 
was  poor,  he  strewed  maize ;  where  it  was 
most  fruitful,  he  planted  wheat ;  and  rice  hi 
such  spots  as  were  marshy.  He  threw  the 
seeds  of  gourds  and  cucumbers  at  the  foot 
of  the  rocks,  which  they  loved  to  climb  and 
decorate  with  their  luxuriant  foliage.  In 
dry  spots  he  cultivated  the  sweet  potato ; 
the  cotton-tree  flourished  upon  the  heights, 
and  the  sugar-cane  grew  in  the  clayey  soil. 
He  reared  some  plants  of  coffee  on  the  hills, 
where  the  grain,  although  small,  is  excellent. 
His  plantain-trees,  which  spread  their  grate* 
ful  shade  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  en- 
circled the  cottages,  yielded  fruit  through- 
out the  year.  And  lastly,  Domingo,  to 
soothe  his  cares,  cultivated  a  few  plants  of 


48 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


tobacco.  Sometimes  he  was  employed  in 
cutting  wood  for  firing  from  tlie  mountain, 
sometimes  in  lie  wing  pieces  etf  rock  within 
the  inclosure,  in  order  to  level  the  paths. 
The  zeal  which  inspired  him  enabled  him  to 
perform  all  these  labors  with  intelligence 
and  activity.  He  was  much  attached  to  Mar- 
garet, and  not  less  to  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
whose  negro  woman,  Mary,  he  had  married 
on  the  birth  of  Virginia ;  and  he  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  his  wife.  Mary  was  born 
at  Madagascar,  and  had  there  acquired  the 
knowledge  of  some  useful  arts.  She  could 
weave  baskets,  and  a  sort  of  stutf,  with  long 
grass  that  grows  in  the  woods.  She  was 
active,  cleanly,  and,  above  all,  faithful.  It 
was  her  care  to  prepare  their  meals,  to  rear 
the  poultry,  and  go  sometimes  to  Port  Louis, 
to  sell  the  superfluous  produce  of  these  lit- 
tle plantations,  which  was  not,  however, 
very  considerable.  If  you  add  to  the  per- 
sonages already  mentioned  two  goats,  which 
were  brought  up  with  the  children,  and  a 
great  dog,  which  kept  Avatch  at  night,  you 
will  have  a  complete  idea  of  the  household, 
as  well  as  of  the  productions  of  these  two 
little  farms. 


PAUL  AND  VIBGIXI'i' 


49 


Madame  cle  la  Tour  and  her  friend  were 
constantly  employed  in  spinning  cotton  for 
the  use  of  their  families.  Destitute  of  every- 
thing which  their  own  industry  could  not* 
supply,  at  home  they  went  barefooted  : 
shoes  were  a  convenience  reserved  for  Sun* 
day,  on  which  day,  at  au  early  hour,  they 
attended  mass  at  the  church  of  the  Shad- 
dock Grove,  which  you  see  yonder.  That 
church  was  more  distant  from  their  homes 
than  Port  Louis;  but  they  seldom  visited 
the  town,  lest  they  should  be  treated  with 
contempt  on  account  of  their  dress,  Avhich 
consisted  simply  of  the  coarse  blue  linen  of 
Bengal,  usually  worn  by  slaves.  But  is 
there,  in  that  external  deference  which  for- 
tune commands,  a  compensation  for  domes- 
tic happiness  ?  If  these  interesting  women 
had  something  to  suffer  from  the  world, 
their  homes  on  that  very  account  became 
more  dear  to  them.  No  sooner  did  Mary 
and  Domingo,  from  this  elevated  spot,  per- 
ceive their  mistresses  on  the  road  of  the 
Shaddock  Grove,  than  they  flew  to  the  foot 
of  the  mountain  in  order  to  help  them  to 
ascend.  They  discerned  in  the  looks  of 
their  domestics  the  joy  which  their  return 


50 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


excited.  They  found  in  their  retreat  neat- 
ness, independence,  all  the  blessings  which 
are  the  recompense  of  toil,  and  they  received 
the  zealous  services  which  spring  from  affec- 
tion. United  by  the  tie  of  similar  wants, 
and  the  sympathy  of  similar  misfortunes, 
they  gave  each  other  the  tender  name.s  of 
companion,  friend,  sister.  They  had  but 
one  will,  one  interest,  one  table.  All  their 
possessions  were  in  common.  And  if  some- 
times a  passion  more  ardent  than  friendship 
awakened  in  their  hearts  the  pang  of  unavail- 
ing anguish,  a  pure  religion,  united  with 
chaste  manners,  drew  their  affections  to- 
wards  another  life  :  as  the  trembling  flame 
rises  towards  heaven,  when  it  no  longer  finds 
any  aliment  on  earth. 

The  duties  of  maternity  became  a  source 
of  additional  happiness  to  these  affectionate 
mothers,  whose  mutual  friendship  gained 
new  strength  at  the  sight  of  their  children, 
equally  the  offspring  of  an  ill-fated  attach- 
ment. They  delighted  in  washing  their  in- 
fants together  in  the  same  bath,  in  putting 
them  to  rest  in  the  same  cradle,  and  in  chang- 
ing the  maternal  bosom  at  which  they  re- 
ceived nourishment.    ''My  friend,"  cried 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


51 


Madame  de  la  Tour,  "  we  shall  each  of  us 
have  two  children,  and  each  of  our  children 
will  have  two  mothers."  As  two  buds 
which  remain  on  different  trees  of  the  same 
kind,  after  the  tempest  has  broken  all  their 
branches,  produce  more  delicious  fruit,  if 
each,  separated  from  the  maternal  stem,  be 
grafted  on  the  neighboring  tree,  so  these 
two  infants,  deprived  of  all  their  other  rela- 
tions, when  thus  exchanged  for  nourishment 
by  those  who  had  given  them  birth,  imbibed 
feelings  of  affection  still  more  tender  than 
those  of  son  and  daughter,  brother  and  sis- 
ter. While  they  were  yet  in  their  cradles, 
their  mothers  talked  of  their  marriage. 
They  soothed  their  own  cares  by  looking 
forward  to  the  future  happiness  of  their 
children ;  but  this  contemplation  often  drew 
forth  their  tears.  The  misfortunes  of  one 
mother  had  arisen  from  having  neglected 
marriage ;  those  of  the  other  for  having  sub- 
mitted to  its  laws.  One  had  suffered  by 
aiming  to  rise  above  her  condition,  the  other 
by  descending  from  her  rank.  But  they 
found  consolation  in  reflecting  that  their 
more  fortunate  children,  far  from  the  cruel, 
prejudices  of  Europe,  would  enjoy  at  once 


a  OF  ILL  UB. 


62  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


the  pleasures  of  love  and  the  blessings  of 
equality. 

Rarely,  indeed,  has  such  an  attachment 
been  seen  as  that  which  the  two  children 
already  testified  for  each  other.  If  Paul 
complained  of  anything,  his  mother  pointed 
to  Virginia  :  at  her  sight  he  smiled,  and  was 
appeased.  If  any  accident  befell  Virginia, 
the  cries  of  Paul  gave  notice  of  the  disaster ; 
but  the  dear  little  creature  would  suppress 
her  complaints  if  she  found  that  he  was 
unhappy.  "When  I  came  hither,  I  usually 
found  them  quite  naked,  as  is  the  custom  of 
the  country,  tottering  in  their  walk,  and 
holding  each  other  by  the  hands  and  under 
the  arms,  as  we  see  represented  the  constel- 
lation of  the  Twins.  At  night  these  infants 
often  refused  to  be  separated,  and  were 
found  lying  in  the  same  cradle,  their  cheeks, 
their  bosoms  pressed  close  together,  their 
hands  thrown  round  each  other's  neck,  and 
sleeping,  locked  in  one  another's  arms. 

When  they  began  to  speak,  the  first  name 
they  learned  to  give  each  other  were  those 
of  brother  and  sister,  and  childhood  knows 
no  softer  appellation.  Their  education,  by 
directing  them  ever  to  consider  each  other's 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


5a 


wants,  tended  greatly  to  increase  their  affec- 
tion. In  a  short  time,  all  the  household 
economy,  the  care  of  preparing  their  rural 
repasts,  became  the  task  of  Virginia,  whose 
labors  were  always  crowned  with  the  praises 
and  kisses  of  her  brother.  As  for  Paul, 
always  in  motion,  he  dug  the  garden  with 
Domingo,  or  followed  him  with  a  little 
hatchet  into  the  woods  ;  and  if  in  his  ram- 
bles he  espied  a  beautiful  flower,  any  deli- 
cious fruit,  or  a  nest  of  birds,  even  at  the 
top  of  the  tree,  he  would  climb  up  and  bring 
the  spoil  to  his  sister.  When  you  met  one 
of  these  children,  you  might  be  sure  the 
other  was  not  far  off. 

One  day  as  I  was  coming  down  that 
mountain,  I  saw  Virginia  at  the  end  of  the 
garden  running  towards  the  house  with  her 
petticoat  thrown  over  her  head,  in  order  to 
screen  herself  from  a  shower  of  rain.  At  a 
distance,  I  thought  she  was  alone ;  but  as  I 
hastened  towards  her  in  order  to  help  her  on, 
I  perceived  she  held  Paul  by  the  arm,  almost 
entirely  enveloped  in  the  same  canopy,  and 
both  were  laughing  heartily  at  their  being 
sheltered  together  under  an  umbrella  of 
their  own  invention.    Those  two  charming 


54 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


faces  in  the  middle  of  a  swelling  petticoat, 
recalled  to  my  mind  the  children  of  Leda, 
enclosed  in  the  same  shell. 

Their  sole  study  was  how  they  could 
please  and  assist  one  another ;  for  of  all 
other  things  they  were  ignorant,  and  indeed 
could  neither  read  nor  write.  They  were 
never  disturbed  by  inquiries  about  past 
times,  nor  did  their  curiosity  extend  beyond 
the  bounds  of  their  mountain.  They  be- 
lieved the  world  ended  at  the  shores  of  their 
own  island,  and  all  their  ideas  and  all  their 
affections  were  confined  within  its  limits. 
Their  mutual  tenderness,  and  that  of  their 
mothers,  employed  all  the  energies  of  their 
minds.  Their  tears  had  never  been  called 
forth  by  tedious  application  to  useless 
sciences.  Their  minds  had  never  been 
wearied  by  lessons  of  morality,  superfluous 
to  bosoms  unconscious  of  ill.  They  had 
never  been  taught  not  to  steal,  because  every- 
thing with  them  was  in  common :  or  not  to 
be  intemperate,  because  their  simple  food 
was  left  to  their  own  discretion  ;  or  not  to 
lie,  because  they  had  nothing  to  conceal. 
Their'  young  imaginations  had  never  been 
terrified  by  the  idea  that  God  has  punish- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


55 


ment  in  store  for  ungrateful  children,  since 
with  them,  filial  affection  arose  naturally 
from  maternal  tenderness.  All  they  had 
been  taught  of  religion  was  to  love  it,  and 
if  they  did  not  offer  up  long  prayers  in  the 
church,  wherever  they  were,  in  the  house, 
in  the  fields,  in  the  woods,  they  raised 
towards  heaven  their  innocent  hands,  and 
hearts  purified  by  virtuous  affections. 

All  their  early  childhood  passed  thus,  like . 
a  beautiful  dawn,  the  prelude  of  a  bright 
day.  Already  they  assisted  their  mothers 
in  the  duties  of  the  household.  As  soon  as 
the  crowing  of  the  wakeful  cock  announced 
the  first  beam  of  the  morning,  Virginia 
arose,  and  hastened  to  draw  water  from  a 
neighboring  spring :  then  returning  to  the 
house  she  prepared  the  breakfast.  When 
the  rising  sun  gilded  the  points  of  the  rocks 
which  overhang  the  inclosure  in  Avhich 
they  lived,  Margaret  and  her  child  re- 
paired to  the  dwelling  of  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  where  they  offered  up  their  morning 
prayer  together.  This  sacrifice  of  thanks- 
giving always  preceded  their  first  repast, 
which  they  often  took  before  the  door  of 
the  cottage,  seated  upon  the  grass,  under  a 


66 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


canopy  of  plantain :  and  while  the  branches 
of  that  delicious  tree  afforded  a  grateful 
shade,  its  fruit  furnished  a  substantial  food 
ready  prepared  for  them  by  nature,  and  its 
long  glossy  leaves,  spread  upon  the  table, 
supplied  the  place  of  linen.  Plentiful  and 
wholesome  nourishment  gave  early  growth 
and  vigor  to  the  persons  of  these  childreuj 
and  their  countenances  expressed  the  purity 
and  peace  of  their  souls.  At  twelve  years 
of  age  the  figure  of  Virginia  was  in  some 
degree  formed ;  a  profusion  of  light  hair 
ishaded  her  face,  to  which  her  blue  eyes  and 
€oral  lips  gave  the  most  charming  brilliancy. 
Her  eyes  sparkled  with  vivacity  when  she 
spoke  ;  but  when  she  was  silent  they  were 
habitually  turned  upwards  with  an  expres- 
sion of  extreme  sensibility,  or  rather  of 
tender  melancholy.  The  figure  of  Paul  be- 
gan already  to  display  the  graces  of  youth- 
ful beauty.  He  was  taller  than  Virginia : 
his  skin  was  a  darker  tint ;  his  nose  more 
aquiline ;  and  his  black  eyes  would  have 
been  too  piercing,  if  the  long  eyelashes  by 
which  they  were  shaded  had  not  imparted 
to  them  an  expression  of  softness.  He  was 
constantly  in  motion,  except  when  his  sister 


PAUL  AXD  VIBGmiA. 


57 


appeared,  and  then,  seated  by  her  side,  he 
became  still.  Their  meals  often  passed 
without  a  word  being  spoken ;  and  from 
their  silence,  the  simple  elegance  of  their 
attitudes,  and  the  beauty  of  their  naked 
feet,  you  might  have  fancied  you  beheld'  an 
antique  group  of  white  marble,  representing 
some  of  the  children  of  Niobe,  but  for  the 
glances  of  their  eyes,  which  were  constantly 
seeking  to  meet,  and  their  mutual  soft  and 
tender  smiles,  which  suggested  rather  the 
idea  of  hajDpy  celestial  spirits,  whose  nature 
is  love,  and  who  are  not  obliged  to  have  re- 
course to  words  for  the  expression  of  their 
feelings.' 

In  the  mean  time  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
perceiving  every  day  some  unfolding  grace, 
some  new  beauty,  in  her  daughter,  felt  her 
maternal  anxiety  increase  with  her  tender- 
ness. She  often  said  to  me,  "  If  I  were  to 
die,  what  will  become  of  Virginia  without 
fortune?" 

Madame  de  la  Tour  had  an  aunt  in 
France,  who  was  a  woman  of  quality,  rich, 
old,  and  a  complete  devotee.  She  had  be- 
haved with  so  much  cruelty  towards  her 
niece  upon  her  marriap-e,  that  Madame  de  la 


58  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


Tour  had  determined  no  extremity  of  dis* 
tress  should  ever  compel  her  to  have  re- 
course to  her  hard-hearted  relation.  But 
when  she  became  a  mother,  the  pride  of 
resentment  was  overcome  by  the  stronger 
feelings  of  maternal  tenderness.  She  wrote 
to  her  aunt,  informing  her  of  the  sudden 
death  of  her  husband,  and  the  birth  of  her 
daughter,  and  the  difficulties  in  which  she 
was  involved,  burdened  as  she  was  with 
an  infant,  and  without  means  of  support- 
She  received  no  answer ;  but  notwithstand- 
ing the  high  spirit  natural  to  her  character, 
she  no  longer  feared  exposing  herself  to> 
mortification ;  and,  although  she  knew  her 
aunt  would  never  pardon  her  for  having 
niarried  a  man  who  was  not  of  noble 
birth,  however  estimable,  she  continued  ta 
write  to  her,  with  the  hope  of  awakening 
her  compassion  for  Virginia.  Many  years, 
however,  passed  without  receiving  any 
token  of  her  remembrance. 

At  length,  in  1738,  three  years  after  the 
arrival  of  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  in 
this  island,  Madame  de  la  Tour  was  in- 
formed that  the  Governor  had  a  letter  ta 
give  her  from  her  aunt.    She  flew  to  Port 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA.  59 


Louis ;  maternal  joy  raised  her  mind  above 
all  trifling  considerations,  and  she  was  care- 
less on  this  occasion  of  appearing  in  her 
homely  attire.  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais 
gave  her  a  letter  from  her  aunt,  in  which  she 
informed  her,  that  she  deserved  her  fate 
for  marrying  an  adventurer  and  a  libertine : 
that  the  passions  brought  with  them  their 
own  punishment;  that  the  premature  death 
of  her  husband  was  a  just  visitation  from 
Heaven ;  that  she  had  done  well  in  going  to 
a  distant  island,  rather  than  dishonor  her 
family  by  remaining  in  France ;  and  that, 
after  all,  in  the  colony  where  she  had  taken 
refuge,  none  but  the  idle  failed  to  grow  rich. 
Having  thus  censured  her  niece,  she  con- 
cluded by  eulogizing  herself.  To  avoid,  she 
said,  the  almost  inevitable  evils  of  marriage, 
she  had  determined  to  remain  single.  In 
fact,  as  she  was  of  a  very  ambitious  dis- 
position, she  had  resolved  to  marry  none 
but  a  man  of  high  rank ;  but  although  she 
was  very  rich,  her  fortune  was  not  found 
a  sufficient  bribe,  even  at  court,  to  counter- 
balance the  malignant  dispositions  of  her 
*  mind,  and  the  disagreeable  qualities  of  her 


60 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


After  mature  deliberations,  she  added,  in 
a  postscript,  that  she  had  strongly  recom* 
mended  her  niece  to  Monsieur  de  la  Bour* 
donnais.  This  she  had  indeed  done,  lout  in 
a  manner  of  late  too  common,  which  renders 
a  patron  perhaps  even  more  to  be  feared 
than  a  declared  enemy ;  for,  in  order  to 
justify  herself  for  her  harshness,  she  had 
cruelly  slandered  her  niece,  while  she  affected 
to  pity  her  misfortunes. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  whom  no  unprejudiced 
person  could  have  seen  without  feelings  of 
sympathy  and  respect,  was  received  with 
the  utmost  coolness  by  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais,  biased  as  he  was  against  her. 
When  she  painted  to  him  her  own  situation 
and  that  of  her  child,  he  replied  in  abrupt 
sentences, — "We  will  see  what  can  be  done 
— there  are  so  many  to  relieve — all  in  good 
time — why  did  you  displease  your  aunt  ?— . 
you  have  been  much  to  blame." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  returned  to  her  cottage, 
her  heart  torn  with  grief,  and  filled  with  all 
the  bitterness  of  disappointment.  AVhen  sho 
arrived  she  threw  her  aunt's  letter  on  the 
table,  and  exclaimed  to  her  friend,  "  There  is 
the  fruit  of  eleven  years  of  patient  expecta- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


61 


tion ! "  Madame  de  la  Tour  being  the  only 
person  in  the  little  circle  who  could  read, 
she  again  took  up  the  letter,  and  read  it 
aloud.  Scarcely .  had  she  finished,  when 
Margaret  exclaimed,  What  have  we  to  do 
with  your  relations  ?  Has  God  then  forsaken 
us  ?  He  only  is  our  father !  Have  we  not 
hitherto  been  happy  ?  Why  then  this  regret  ? 
You  have  no  courage."  Seeing  Madame  de 
la  Tour  in  tears,  she  threw  herself  upon  her 
neck,  and  pressing  her  in  her  arms, — "  My 
dear  friend !  "  cried  she,  "  my  dear  friend !  " 
—but  her  emotion  choked  her  utterance. 
At  this  sight  Virginia  burst  into  tears,  and 
pressed  her  mother's  and  Margaret's  hand 
alternately  to  her  lips  and  heart;  while 
Paul,  his  eyes  inflamed  with  anger,  cried, 
clasping  his  hands  together,  and  stamping 
with  his  foot,  not  knowing  whom  to  blame 
for  this  scene  of  misery.  The  noise  soon 
brought  Domingo  and  Mary  to  the  spot, 
and  the  little  habitation  resounded  with  cries 
of  distress, — "  Ah,  madam  ! — My  good  mis- 
tress ! — My  dear  mother  ! — Do  not  weep  i  " 
These  tender  proofs  of  affection  at  length 
dispelled  the  grief  of  Madame  de  la  Tour. 
She  took  Paul  and  Virginia  in  her  arms,  and. 


62 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


embracing  them,  said,  "  You  are  the  cause 
of  my  affliction,  my  children,  but  you  are  also 
my  only  source  of  delight !  Yes,  my  dear 
children,  misfortune  has  reached  me,  but  only 
from  a  distance :  here  I  am  surrounded 
with  happiness."  Paul  and  Virginia  did  not 
understand  this  reflection;  but  when  they 
saw  that  she  was  calm,  they  smiled,  and 
continued  to  caress  her.  Tranquillity  was 
thus  restored  in  this  happy  family,  and  all 
that  had  passed,  was  but  as  a  storm  in  the 
midst  of  fine  weather,  which  disturbs  the 
serenity  of  the  atmosphere  but  for  a  short 
time,  and  then  passes  away. 

The  amiable  disposition  of  these  children 
unfolded  itself  daily.  One  Sunday,  at  day- 
break, their  mothers  having  gone  to  mass 
at  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  the 
children  perceived  a  negro  woman  beneath 
the  plantains  which  surrounded  their  hab- 
itation. She  appeared  almost  wasted  to  a 
skeleton,  and  had  no  other  garment  than  a 
piece  of  coarse  cloth  thrown  around  her. 
She  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Virginia, 
who  was  preparing  the  family  breakfast, 
and  said,  "  My  good  young  lady,  have  pity 
on  a  poor  runaway  slave.   For  a  whole 


PAUL  AND  VIBGIXIA.  C3 

month  I  have  wandered  among  these  mount- 
ains, half  dead  with  hunger,  and  often  pur- 
sued by  the  hunters  and  tlieir  dogs.  I  fled 
from  my  master,  a  rich  planter  of  the  Black 
River,  who  has,  used  me  as  j^ou  see ;  "  and 
she  showed  her  body  marked  with  scars 
from  the  lashes  she  had  received.  She 
added,  "  I  was  going  to  drown  myself,  but 
hearing  you  lived  here,  I  said  to  myseli, 
Since  there  are  still  some  good  white  people 
in  this  country,  I  need  not  die  yet."  Virginia 
answered  with  emotion, — "Take  courage, 
unfortunate  creature !  here  is  something  to 
eat ; "  and  she  gave  her  the  breakfast  she 
had  been  preparing,  which  the  slave  in  a 
few  minutes  devoured.  When  her  hunger 
was  appeased,  Virginia  said  to  her, — "  Poor 
woman !  I  should  like  to  go  and  ask  for- 
giveness for  you  of  your  master.  Surely 
the  sight  of  you  will  touch  him  with  pity. 
Will  you  show  me  the  way?" — "Angel  of 
heaven  I "  answered  the  poor  negro  woman, 
"  I  will  follow  you  where  you  please !  " 
Virginia  called  her  brother  and  begged  him  to 
accompany  her.  The  slave  led  the  way,  by 
winding  and  difficult  paths,  through  the 
woods,  over  mountains,  which  they  climbed 


64 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


with  difficulty,  and  across  rivers,  through 
which  they  were  obhged  to  wade.  At 
length,  about  the  middle  of  the  day,  they 
reached  the  foot  of  a  steep  descent  upon 
the  borders  of  the  Black  River.  There  they 
perceived  a  well-built  house,  surrounded 
by  extensive  plantations,  and  a  number 
of  slaves  employed  in  their  various  labors. 
Their  master  was  v/alking  among  them  with 
a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  a  switch  in  his  hand. 
He  was  a  tall  thin  man,  of  a  brown  com- 
plexion; his  eyes  were  sunk  in  his  head, 
and  his  dark  eyebrows  were  joined  in  one. 
Virginia,  holding  Paul  by  the  hand,  drew 
near,  and  with  much  emotion  begged  him, 
for  the  love  of  God,  to  pardon  his  poor  slave, 
who  stood  trembling  a  few  paces  behind. 
The  planter  at  first  paid  little  attention 
to  the  children,  who  he  saw,  were  meanly 
dressed.  But  when  he  observed  the  ele- 
gance of  Virginia's  form,  and  the  profusion 
of  her  beautiful  light  tresses  which  had  es- 
caped from  beneath  her  blue  cap ;  when  he 
heard  the  soft  tone  of  her  voice,  which 
trembled,  as  well  as  her  whole  frame,  while 
she  implored  his  compassion  ;  he  took  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  lifting  up  his 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


65 


stick,  swore  with  a  terrible  oath,  that  he 
pardoned  his  slave,  not  for  the  love  of 
Heaven,  but  of  her  who  asked  his  forgive- 
ness. Virginia  made  a  sign  to  the  slave  to 
approach  her  master ;  and  instantly  sprang 
away  followed  by  Paul. 

They  climbed  up  the  steep  they  ha(J 
descended;  and -having  gained  the  sum- 
mit, seated  themselves  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree,  overcome  with  fatigue,  hunger  and 
thirst.  They  had  left '  their  home  fast- 
ing, and  walked  five  leagues  since  sunrise. 
Paul  said  to  Virginia, — ^"  My  dear  sister,  it 
is  past  noon,  and  I  am  sure  you  are  thirsty 
and  hungry :  we  shall  find  no  dinner 
here ;  let  us  go  down  the  mountain  again,  and 
ask  the  master  of  the  poor  slave  for  some 
food." — "  Oh,  no,"  answered  Virginia,  "  he 
frightens  -me  too  much.  Remember  what 
Miamma  sometimes  says,  '  The  bread  of  the 
wicked  is  like  stones  in  the  mouth.' " 
— "  What  shall  we  do  then  ?  "  said  Paul ; 
"  these  trees  produce  no  fruit  fit  to  eat ; 
and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  find  even  a  tama- 
rind or  a  lemon  to  refresh  you." — "  God  v/ill 
take  care  of  us,"  replied  Virginia ;  "  he 
listens  to  the  cry  even  of  the  little  birds 
5 


66 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


when  they  ask  him  for  food."  Scarcely  had 
she  pronounced  these  words  when  they 
heard  the  noise  of  water  faUing  from  a 
neighboring  rock.  '  They  ran  thither,  and 
having  quenched  their  tliirst  at  this  crystal 
spring,  tliey  gathered  and  ate  a  few  cresses 
wliicli  grew  on  the  border  of  the  stream. 
Soon  afterwards,  wliile  they  were  wandering 
backwards  and  forwards,  in  search  of  more 
solid  nourishment,  Virginia  perceived  in  tiie 
thickest  part  of  the  forest,  a  young  palm-tree. 
The  kind  of  cabbage  which  is  found  at  the  top 
of  the  palm,  enfolded  within  its  leaves,  is  well 
adapted  for  food ;  but,  although  the  stock, 
of  tne  tree  is  not  thicker  than  a  man's  leg, 
it  grows  to  above  sixty  feet  in  neight. 
The  wood  of  the  tree,  indeed,  is  composed 
only  of  very  fine  filaments ;  but  the  bark 
is  so  hard  that  it  turns  the  edge  of  the 
hatchet,  and  Paul  was  not  furnished  even 
with  a  knife.  At  length  he  thought  of 
setting  fire  to  the  palm-tree;  but  a  new  diffi- 
culty occurred :  he  had  no  steel  with  which 
to  strike  fire  ;  and  although  the  whole  island 
is  covered  with  rocks,  I  do  not  believe  it  is 
possible  to  find  a  single  flint.  IsTecessity, 
however,  is  fertile  in  expedients,  and  the 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


67 


most  useful  inventions  have  arisen  from 
men  placed  in  the  most  destitute  situations. 
Paul  determined  to  kindle  a  fire  after  the 
manner  of  the  negroes.  With  the  sharp 
end  of  a  stone  he  made  a  small  hole  in  the 
branch  of  a  tree  that  was  quite  dry,  and 
which  he  held  between  his  feet :  he  then, 
with  the  edge  of  the  same  stone,  brought  to 
a  point  another  dry  branch  of  a  dift erent  sort 
of  wood,  and,  afterwards,  placing  the  piece 
of  pointed  wood  in  the  small  hole  of  the 
branch  which  he  held  with  his  feet  and 
turning  it  rapidly  between  his  hands,  in  a 
few  minutes  smoke  and  sparks  of  fire  issued 
from  the  point  of  contact.  Paul  then  heaped 
together  dried  grass  and  branches,  and  set 
fire  to  the  foot  of  the  palm-tree,  which  soon 
fell  to  the  ground  with  a  tremendous  crash. 
The  fire  was  further  useful  to  him  in  strip- 
ping off  the  long,  thick,  and  pointed  leaves, 
within  which  the  cabbage  was  inclosed. 
JIaving  thus  succeeded  in  obtaining  thi^ 
fruit,  they  ate  part  of  it  raw,  and  part 
dressed  upon  the  ashes,  which  they  found 
<;qually  palatable.  They  made  this  frugal 
repast  with  delight,  from  the  remembrance 
of  the  benevolent  action  thev  had  performed 


68 


FAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


in  the  morning :  yet  their  joy  was  embittered 
by  the  thoughts  of  the  uneasiness  which 
their  long  absence  from  home  would  occasion 
their  mothers.  Virginia  often  recurred  to 
this  subject ;  but  Paul,  who  felt  his  strength 
renewed  by  their  meal,  assured  her  that 
il\  ivovM.  uofe  b^^  loiig  before  they  reached 
home,  and,  by  the  assurance  of  their  safety, 
tranquilized  the  minds  of  their  parents. 

After  dinner  they  were  much  embarrassed 
by  the  recollection  that  they  had  now  no 
guide,  and  that  they  were  ignorant  of  the 
way.  Paul,  whose  spirit  was  not  subdued 
by  difficulties,  said  to  Virginia, — "  The  sun 
shines  full  upon  our  huts  at  noon  :  we  must 
pass,  as  we  did  this  morning,  over  that 
mountain  with  its  three  points,  which  you 
see  yonder.  Come,  let  us  be  moving." 
This  mountain  was  that  of  the  Three  Breasts, 
so  called  from  the  form  of  its  three  peaks. 
They  then  descended  the  steep  bank  of  the 
Black  River,  on  the  northern  side ;  and  ar- 
rived, after  an  hour's  walk,  on  the  banks 
of  a  large  river,  which  stopped  their  further 
progress.  This  large  portion  of  the  island, 
covered  as  it  is  with  forests,  is  even  now  so 
little  known  that  many  of  its  rivers  and 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA.  69 


mountains  have  not  yet  received  a  name. 
The  stream,  on  the  banks  of  which  Paul  and 
Virginia  were  now  standing,  rolls  foaming 
over  a  bed  of  rocks.  The  noise  of  the  water 
frightened  Virginia,  and  she  was  afraid  to 
wade  through  the  current:  Paul  thereforQ 
took  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  went  thus 
loaded  over  the  slippery  rocks,  Avhich  formed 
the  bed  of  the  river,  careless  of  the  tumult- 
uous noise  of  its  waters.  "  Do  not  be  afraid," 
cried  he  to  Virginia ;  ^'  I  feel  very  strong 
with  you.  If  that  planter  at  the  Black  River 
had  refused  you  the  pardon  of  his  slave,  I 
would  have  fought  with  him." — "  What !  " 
answered  Virginia,  "  with  that  great  wicked 
man  ?  To  what  have  I  exposed  you !  Gra- 
cious heaven !  how  difficult  it  is  to  do  good ! 
and  yet  it  is  so  easy  to  do  wrong  " 

When  Paul  had  crossed  the  river,  he 
wished  to  continue  the  journey  carrying  his 
sister  :  and  he  flattered  himself  that  he 
could  ascend  in  that  way  the  mountain  of 
the  Three  Breasts,  which  was  still  at  the  dis- 
tance of  half  a  league  ;  but  his  strength  soon 
failed,  and  he  was  obliged  to  set  down  his 
burden,  and  to  rest  himself  by  her  side. 
Virginia  then  said  to  him,  "  My  dear  brother 


70 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA 


the  sun  is  going  down ;  you  have  still  some 
strength  left,  but  mine  has  quite  failed  :  do 
leave  me  here,  and  return  home  alone  to  ease 
the  fears  of  our  mothers." — "  Oh  no,"  said 
Paul,  "  I  will  not  leave  you  ;  if  night  over- 
takes us  in  this  wood  I  will  light  a  fire,  and 
bring  down  another  palm-tree :  you  shall 
eat  the  cabbage,  and  I  will  form  a  covering 
of  the  leaves  to  shelter  you."  In  the  mean 
time,  Virginia  being  a  little  rested,  she 
gathered  from  the  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  which 
overhung  the  bank  of  the  river,  some  long 
leaves  of  the  plant  called  hart's  tongue, 
which  grew  near  its  root.  Of  these  leaves 
she  made  a  sort  of  buskin,  with  which  she 
covered  her  feet,  that  were  bleeding  from 
the  sharpness  of  the  stony  paths ;  for  in  her 
eager  desire  to  do  good,  she  had  forgotten 
to  put  on  her  shoes.  Feeling  her  feet  cooled 
by  the  freshness  of  the  leaves,  she  broke 
off  a  branch  of  bamboo,  and  continued  her 
walk,  leaning  with  one  hand  on  the  staff, 
and  with  the  other  on  Paul. 

They  walked  on  in  this  manner  slowly 
through,  the  woods ;  but  from  the  height  of 
the  trees,  and  the  thickness  of  their  foliage, 
they  soon  lost  sight  of  the  mountain  of  the 


PAUL  A^^D  VIEGINIA. 


Three  Breasts,  by  which  they  had  hitherto 
directed  their  course,  and  also  of  the  sun, 
(7hich  was  now  setting.  At  lengtli  they 
wandered,  without  perceiving  it,  from  the 
beaten  path  in  which  they  had  hitherto 
walked,  and  found  themselves  in  a  labyrinth 
of  trees,  underwood,  and  rocks,  whence  there 
appeared  to  be  no  outlet.  Paul  made  Vir- 
ginia sit  down,  while  he  ran  backwards  and. 
forwards,  half  frantic,  in  search  of  a  patli. 
which  might  lead  them  out  of  this  thick 
wood ;  but  he  fatigued  himself  to  no  purpose. 
He  then  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  lofty  tree, 
whence  he  hoped  at  least  to  perceive  the 
mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts  :  but  he 
could  discern  nothing  around  him  but  the 
tops  of  trees,  some  of  which  were  gilded 
with  the  last  beams  of  the  setting  sun. 
ready  the  shadows  of  th-e  mountains  were 
spreading  over  the  forests  in  the  valleys.. 
The  wind  lulled,  as  is  usually  the  case  at 
sunset.  The  most  profound  silence  reigned 
in  those  awful  solitudes,  which  was  only  in- 
terrupted by  the  cry  of  the  deer,  who  came 
to  their  lairs  in  that  unfrequented  spot. 
Paul,  in  the  hope  that  some  hunter  would 
hear  his  voice,  called  out  as  loud  as  he  was 


72 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


able, — "  Come,  come  to  the  help  of  Virginia." 
But  the  echoes  of  the  forest  alone  answered 
his  call,  and  repeated  again  and  again,  "  Vir- 
ginia— Virginia." 

Paul  at  length  descended  from  the  tree, 
overcome  with  fatigue  and  vexation.  He 
looked  around  in  order  to  make  some  ar- 
rangement for  passing  the  night  in  that  des- 
ert ;  but  he  could  find  neither  fountain,  nor 
palm-tree,  nor  even  a  branch  of  dry  wood  iit 
for  kindling  a  fire.  He  was-then  impressed, 
by  experience,  with  the  sense  of  his  own 
weakness,  and  began  to  weep.  Virginia 
said  to  him,— "Do  not  weep,  my  dear 
brother,  or  I  shall  be  overwhelmed  with 
.grief.  I  am  the  cause  of  all  your  sorrow, 
and  of  all  that  our  mothers  are  suffering  at 
this  moment.  I  find  we  ought  to  do  noth- 
ing, not  even  good,  without  consulting  our 
parents.  Oh,  I  have  been  very  imprudent ! " 
— and  she  began  to  shed  tears.  "Let  us 
pray  to  God,  my  dear  brother,"  she  again 
said,  "  and  he  will  hear  us."  They  had 
scarcely  finished  their  prayer,  when  they 
heard  the  barking  of  a  dog.  "  It  must  be 
the  dog  of  some  hunter,"  said  Paul,  Avho 
comes  here  at  night,  to  lie  in  wait  for  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  7b 

deer.  Soon  after,  the  dog  began  barking 
again  with  increased  violence.  "  Surely," 
said  Virginia,  "  it  is  Fidele,  our  own  dog : 
yes, — now  I  know  his  bark.  Are  we  then  so 
near  home  ? — at  the  foot  of  our  own  mount- 
ain?" A  moment  after  Fidele  was  at  their 
feet,  barking,  howling,  moaning,  and  devour- 
ing them  with  caresses.  Before  they  could 
recover  from  their  surprise,  they  saw  Dom- 
ingo running  towards  them.  At  the  sight  of 
the  good  old  negro,  who  wept  for  joy,  they 
began  to  weep  too,  but  had  not  the  power  to 
utter  a  syllable.  When  Domingo  had  recov- 
ered himself  a  little,  "Oh,  my  dear  children," 
said  he,  "  how  miserable  have  you  made  your 
mothers  !  How  astonished  they  were  when, 
they  returned  with  me  from  mass,  on  not 
finding  you  at  home.  Mary,  who  was  at 
work  at  a  little  distance,  could  not  tell  us 
where  you  were  gone.  I  ran  backwards 
and  forwards  in  the  plantation,  not  know- 
ing where  to  look  for  you.  At  last  I  took 
some  of  your  old  clothes,  and  showing 
them  to  Fidele,  the  poor  animal,  as  if  he 
understood  me,  immediately  began  to  scent 
your  path  ;  and  conducted  me,  wagging  his 
tail  all  the  while,  to  the  Black  River.  I 


74 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


there  saw  a  planter,  who  told  me  you  had 
brought  back  a  Maroon  negro  woman,  hi& 
slave,  and  that  he  had  pardoned  her  at  your 
request.  But  what  a  pardon!  he  showed 
her  to  me  with  her  feet  chained  to  a  block  of 
wood,  and  an  iron  collar  with  three  hook^ 
fastened  round  her  neck  !  After  that,  Fidele, 
still  on  the  scent,  led  me  up  the  steep  bank 
of  the  Black  River,  where  he  again  stopped, 
and  barked  with  all  his  might.  This  was  on 
the  brink  of  a  spring,  near  which 'was  a  fallen 
palm-tree,  and,  a  fire,  still  smoking.  At  last 
he  led  me  to  this  very  spot.  We  are  now 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  of  the  Three 
Breasts,  and  still  four  good  leagues  from 
home.  Come  eat,  and  recover  your 
strength."  Domingo  then  presented  them 
with  a  cake,  some  fruit,  and  a  large  gourd 
full  of  beverage  composed  of  wine,  water, 
lemon-juice,  sugar,  and  nutmeg,  which  their 
mothers  had  prepared  to  invigorate  and  re- 
fresh them.  Virginia  sighed  at  the  recol- 
lection of  the  poor  slave,  and  at  the  un- 
easiness they  had  given  their  mothers.  She 
repeated  several  times.  "  Oh,  how  difficult 
it  is  to  do  good !  "  While  she  and  Paul  were 
taking  refreshment,  it  being  already  night, 


PAUL  AJVD  VIRGINIA. 


75 


Domingo  kindled  a  fire  :  and  having  found 
among  the  rocks  a  particular  kind  of  twisted 
wood,  called  bois  de  ronde,  which  burns  when 
quite  green,  and  throws  out  a  great  blaze, 
he  made  a  torch  of  it,  which  he  lighted. 
But  when  they  prepared  to  continue  their 
journey,  a  new  difficulty  occurred ;  Paul  and 
Virginia  could  no  longer  walk,  their  feet 
being  violently  swollen  and  inflamed.  Do- 
mingo knew  not  what  to  do ;  whether  to  leave 
them  and  go  in  search  of  help,  or  remain  - 
and  pass  the  night  with  them  on  that  spot. 
"  There  was  a  time,"  said  he,  "  when  I  could 
carry  you  both  together  in  my  arms !  But 
now  you  are  grown  big,  and  I  am  grown  old." 
While  he  was  in  this  perplexity,  a  troop 
of  Maroon  negroes  appeared  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  them.  The  chief  of  the  band, 
approaching  Paul  and  Virginia,  said  to  them, 
— "  Good  little  white  people,  do  not  be 
afraid.  We  saw  you  pass  this  morning, 
with  a  negro  woman  of  the  Black  River. 
You  went  to  nsk  pardon  for  her  of  her 
wicked  master  ;  and  we,  in  return  for  this, 
will  carry  you  home  upon  our  shoulders." 
He  then  made  a  sign,  and  four  of  the  strong- 
est negroes  immediately  formed  a  sort  of 


76 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


litter  with  the  branches  of  trees  and  lianas, 
and  having  seated  Paul  and  Virginia  on 
it,  carried  tliem  upon  their  shoulders.  Do- 
mingo marched  in  front  with  his  lighted 
torch,  and  they  proceeded  amidst  the  rejoic- 
ings of  the  whole  troop,  who  overwhelmed 
them  with  tlieir  benedictions.  Virginia, 
affected  by  this  scene,  said  to  Paul,  with 
emotion, — "  Oh,  my  dear  brother  !  God 
never  leaves  a  good  action  unrewarded." 

It  was  midnight  when  they  arrived  at  the 
foot  of  their  mountain,  on  the  ridges  of 
which  several  fires  were  lighted.  As  soon 
as  they  began  to  ascend,  they  heard  voices 
exclaiming — "  Is  it  you,  my  children  ?  " 
They  answered  immediately,  and  the  ne- 
groes also, — "  Yes,  yes,  it  is. "  A  moment 
after  they  could  distinguish  their  mothers 
and  Mary  coming  towards  them  with  lighted 
sticks  in  their  hands.  "  Unhappy  children," 
cried  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "  where  have  you 
been  ?  what  agonies  you  have  made  us  suf- 
fer !  " — "  We  have  been,"  said  Virginia,  "  to 
the  Black  River,  where  we  went  to  ask  par- 
don for  a  poor  Maroon  slave,  to  whom  I  gave 
our  breakfast  tliis  morning,  because  she 
seemed  dying  of  hunger ;  and  these  Maroon 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  77 


negroes  have  brought  us  home."  Madixme 
de  la  Tour  embraced  her  daughter,  without 
beuig  able  to  speak  ;  and  Virgmia,  who  felt 
her  face  wet  with  her  mother's  tears,  ex- 
claimed, "  Now  I  am  repaid  for  all  the  hard- 
ships I  have  suffered."  Margaret,  in  a  trans- 
port of  delight,  pressed  Paul  in  her  arms,  ex- 
claiming, "  And  you  also,  my  dear  child, 
you  have  done  a  good  action."  When  they 
reached  the  cottages  with  their  children, 
they  entertained  all  the  negroes  with  a 
plentiful  repast,  after  which  the  latter  re- 
turned to  the  woods  praying  Heaven  to 
shower  down  every  description  of  blessing 
on  those  good  white  people. 

Every  day  was  to  these  families  a  day  of 
happiness  and  tranquillity.  Neither  ambi- 
tion nor  envy  disturbed  their  repose.  They 
did  not  seek  to  obtain  a  useless  reputation 
out  of  doors,  which  may  be  procured  by  arti- 
fice and  lost  by  calumny ;  but  were  con- 
tented to  be  the  sole  witnesses  and  judges  of 
their  own  actions.  In  this  island,  where,  as 
is  the  case  in  most  colonies,  scandal  forms 
the  principal  topic  of  conversation,  their 
virtues,  and  even  their  names,  were  un- 
known.  The  passer-by  on  the  road  to  tha 


78  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Shaddock  Grove,  indeed,  would  sometimes 
ask  the  inhabitants  of  the  plain,  who  lived 
in  the  cottages  up  there  ?  and  was  always 
told,  even  by  those  who  did  not  know  them, 
"  They  are  good  people."  The  modest  violet 
thus,  concealed  in  thorny  places,  sheds  all 
unseen  its  delightful  fragrance  around. 

Slander,  which,  under  an  appearance  of 
justice,  naturally  inclines  the  heart  to  false- 
hood or  to  hatred,  was  entirely  banished 
from  their  conversation  ;  for  it  is  impossible 
not  to  hate  men  if  we  believe  them  to  be 
wicked,  or  to  live  with  the  wicked  without 
concealing  that  hatred  under  a  false  pretence 
of  good  feeling.  Slander  thus  puts  us  ill  at 
ease  with  others  and  with  ourselves.  In 
this  little  circle,  therefore,  the  conduct  of 
individuals  was  not  discussed,  but  the  best 
manner  of  doing  good  to  all ;  and  although 
they  had  but  little  in  their  power,  their 
unceasing  good- will  and  kindness  of  heart 
made  them  constantly  ready  to  do  what 
they  could  for  others.  Solitude,  far  from 
having  blunted  these  benevolent  feelings,  had 
rendered  their  dispositions  even  more  kindly. 
Although  the  petty  scandals  of  the  day 
furnished  no  subject  of  conversation  to  them. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  79 

yet  the  contemplation  of  nature  filled  their 
minds  with  enthusiastic  delight.  They 
adored  the  bounty  of  that  Providence,  which, 
by  their  instrumentality,  had  spread  abun- 
dance and  beauty  amid  these  barren  rocks, 
and  had  enabled  them  to  enjoy  those  pure 
and  simple  pleasures,  which  are  ever  grate- 
ful and  ever  new. 

Paul,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  was  stronger 
and  more  intelligent  than  most  European 
youths  are  at  fifteen ;  and  the  plantations, 
which  Domingo  merely  cultivated,  were 
embellished  by  him.  He  would  go  with 
the  old  negro  into  the  neighboring  woods, 
where  he  would  root  up  the  young  plants 
of  lemon,  orange,  and  tamarind  trees,  the 
round  heads  of  which  are  so  fresh  and  green, 
together  with  date-palm  trees,  which  pro- 
duce fruit  filled  with  a  sweet  cream,  possess- 
ing the  fine  perfume  of  the  orange  flower. 
These  trees,  which  had  already  attained  to 
a  considerable  size,  he  planted  round  their 
little  enclosure.  He  had  also  sown  the  seed 
of  many  trees  which  the  second  year  bear 
flowers  or  fruit;  such  as  the  agathis, 
encircled  with  long  clusters  of  white  flowers 
Which  hang  from  it*  like  the  crystax  pendants 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


of  a  chandelier ;  the  Persian  hlac,  which  lifts 
high  in  air  its  gray  flax-colored  branches ; 
the  pappaw  tree,  the  branchless  trunk  of 
which  forms  a  column  studded  with  green 
melons,  surmounted  by  a  capital  of  broad 
leaves  similar  to  those  of  the  fig-tree. 

The  seeds  and  kernels  of  the  gum  tree, 
terminalia,  mango,  alligator  pear,  the  guava, 
the  bread-fruit  tree,  and  the  narrow-leaved 
rose-apple,  were  also  planted  by  him  with 
profusion :  and  the  greater  number  of  these 
trees  already  afforded  their  young  cultivator 
both  shade  and  fruit.  His  industrious 
hands  diffused  the  riches  of  nature  over 
even  the  most  barren  parts  of  the  plantation. 
Several  species  of  aloes,  the  Indian  fig, 
adorned  with  yellow  flowers  spotted  with 
red,  and  the  thorny  torch  thistle,  grew  upon 
the  dark  summits  of  the  rocks,  and  seemed 
to  aim  at  reaching  the  long  lianas,  which, 
laden  with  blue  or  scarlet  flowers,  hung 
scattered  over  the  steepest  parts  of  the 
mountain. 

I  loved  to  trace  the  ingenuity  he  had  ex- 
ercised in  the  arrangement  of  these  trees. 
He  had  so  disposed  them  that  the  whole 
could  be  seen  at  a  single  glance.   In  the 


PAUL  AXD  VIBGINIA, 


81 


middle  of  the  hollow  he  had  planted  shrubs 
of  the  lowest  growth ;  behind  grew  the  more 
lofty  sorts ;  then  trees  of  the  ordinary- 
height  ;  and  beyond  and  above  all,  the  vener- 
able and  lofty  groves  which  bordered  the 
circumference.  Thus  this  extensive  inclos- 
ure  appeared,  from  its  center,  like  a  verdant 
amphitheater  decorated  with  fruits  and 
flowers,  containing  a  variety  of  vegetables, 
some  strips  of  meadow  land,  and  fields  of 
rice  and  corn.  But,  in  arranging  these  vege- 
table productions  to  his  own  taste,  he  wan- 
dered not  too  far  from  the  designs  of  Nature. 
Guided  by  her  suggestions,  he  had  thrown 
upon  the  elevated  spots  such  seeds  as  the 
winds  would  -scatter  about,  and  near  the 
borders  of  the  springs  those  which  float 
upon  the  water.  Every  plant  thus  grew  in 
its  proper  soil,  and  every  spot  seemed  deco- 
rated by  Nature's  own  hand.  The  streams 
which  fell  from  the  summits  of  the  rocks 
formed  in  some  parts  of  the  valley  sparkling 
cascades,  and  in  others  were  spread  into 
broad  mirrors,  in  which  were  reflected,  set 
in  verdure,  the  flowering  trees,  the  over- 
hanging  rocks,  and  the  azure  heavens. 
Notwithstanding  the  great  irregularity  of 
6 


&2  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 

the  ground,  these  plantations  were,  for  th^ 
most  part,  easy  of  access.  We  had,  mdeed, 
all  given  him  our  advice  and  assistance,  m 
order  to  accomplish  this  end.  He  had  con- 
ducted one  path  entirely  round  the  vallejT, 
and  various  branches  from  it  led  from  the 
circumference  to  the  center.  He  had  drawn 
some  advantage  from  the  most  rugged  spots, 
and  had  blended,  in  harmonious  union,  level 
walks  with  the  inequalities  of  the  soil,  and 
trees  which  grow  wild  with  the  cultivated 
varieties.  With  that  immense  quantity  of 
large  pebbles  which  now  block  up  these 
paths,  and  which  are  scattered  over  most  o\\ 
the  ground  of  this  island,  he  formed  py- 
ramidal heaps  here  and  there,  at  the  base^i 
of  which  he  laid  mold,  and  planted  rose- 
bushes, the  Barbadoes  flower-fence,  and 
other  shrubs  which  love  to  climb  the  rocks, 
in  a  short  time  the  dark  and  shapeless 
heaps  of  stones  he  had  constructed  were 
covered  with  verdure,  or  with  the  glowing 
tints  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers.  Hollow 
recesses  on  the  borders  of  the  streams  shaded 
by  the  overhanging  boughs  of  aged  trees, 
formed  rural  grottoes,  impervious  to  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  in  which  you  might  enjoy 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


83 


fi  refreshing  coolness  during  the  mid  day 
heats.  One  path  led  to  a  clump  of  forest 
trees,  in  the  center  of  which,  sheltered  from 
the  wind,  you  found  a  fruit-tree,  laden  with 
produce.  Here  was  a  corn-field;  there,  an 
orchard ;  from  one  avenue  you  had  a  view 
of  the  cottages ;  from  another,  of  the  inac- 
cessible summit  of  the  mountain.  Beneath 
one  tufted  bower  of  gum-trees,  interwoven 
with  lianas,  no  object  w^hatever  could  be 
perceived :  while  the  point  of  the  adjoining 
rock,  jutting  out  from  the  mountain,  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  whole  inclosure,  and 
of  the  distant  ocean,  where,  occasionally,  we 
could  discern  the  distant  sail,  arriving  from 
Europe,  or  bound  thither.  On  this  rock  the 
two  families  frequently  met  in  the  evening, 
and  enjoyed  in  silence  the  freshness  of  the 
flowers,  the  gentle  murmurs  of  the  fountain, 
and  the  last  blended  harmonies  of  light  and 
dhade. 

Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  the 
names  which  Avere  bestowed  upon  some  of 
the  delightful  retreats  of  this  labyrinth. 
The  rock  of  which  I  have  been  speaking, 
whence  they  could  discern  my  approach  at 
a  considerable  distance,  was  called  the  Dis- 


84  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

covery  of  Friendship.  Paul  and  Virginia 
had  amused  themselves  by  planting  a  bam- 
boo on  that  spot ;  and  whenever  they  saw 
me  coming,  they  hoisted  a  little  white  hand- 
kerchief, by  way  of  signal  at  my  approach, 
as  they  had  seen  a  flag  hoisted  on  the 
neighboring  mountain  on  the  sight  of  a 
vessel  at  sea.  The  idea  struck  me  of  en- 
graving an  inscription  on  the  stalk  of  this 
reed;  for  I  never,  in  the  course  of  my 
travels,  experienced  anything  like  the  pleas- 
ure in  seeing  a  statue  or  other  monument  of 
ancient  art,  as  in  reading  a  well- written  in- 
scriiDtion.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  a  human 
voice  issued  from  the  stone,  and,  making 
itself  heard  after  the  lapse  of  ages,  addressed 
man  in  the  midst  of  a  desert,  to  tell  him 
that  he  is  not  alone,  and  that  other  men,  on 
that  very  spot,  had  felt,  and  thought,  and 
suffered  like  himself.  If  the  inscription 
belongs  to  an  ancient  nation,  which  no  longer 
exists,  it  leads  the  soul  through  infinite 
space,-  and  strengthens  the  consciousness  of 
its  immortality,  by  demonstrating  that  a 
thought  has  survived  the  ruins  of  an 
empire. 

I  inscribed  then,  on  the  little  staff  of  Paul 


PAUL  AND  yiBGINIA,  85 

and  A'irginia'3  flag,  the  following  lines  of 
Horace : — 

Fratres  Helen^e,  lucida  sidera, 
Yentorumque  regat  pater, 
Obstrictis,  aliis,  prseter  lapiga. 

"May  the  brothers  of  Helen,  bright  stars  like  you, 
and  the  Father  of  the  winds,  guide  you  ;  and  may 
you  feel  only  the  breath  of  the  zephyr." 

There  was  a  gum-tree,  under  the  shade  of 
which  Paul  was  accustomed  to  sit,  to  con- 
template the  sea  when  agitated  by  storms. 
On  the  bark  of  this  tree,  I  engraved  the  fol- 
lowing lines  from  Virgil : — 

Fortunatus  et  ille  deos  qui  novit  agrestes ! 

Happy  art  thou,  my  son,  in  knowing  only  the 
pastoral  divinities." 

And  over  the  door  of  Madame  de  la  Tour's 
cottage,  where  the  families  so  frequently 
met,  I  placed  this  line  ; — 

At  secura  quies,  et  nescia  fallere  vita. 

"  Here  dwell  a  calm  conscience,  and  a  life  that 
knows  not  deceit." 

But  Virginia  did  not  approve  of  my  Latin : 
she  said,  that  what  I  had  placed  at  the  foot 


86  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


•of  her  flag-staff  was  too  long  and  too  learned. 

I  should  have  liked  better,"  added  she, 
"  to  have  seen  inscribed,  ever  agitated, 
YET  CONSTANT." — "  Such  a  iiiotto,"  I  an- 
swered, "  would  have  been  still  more  appli- 
cable to  virt^ie."  My  reflection  made  her 
blush. 

The  delicacy  of  sentiment  of  these  happy 
families  was  manifested  in  everything  around 
them.  They  gave  the  tenderest  names  to 
objects  in  aiDpearance  the  most  indiffei'ent. 
A  border  of  orange,  plantain,  and  rose-apple 
trees,  planted  round  a  green  sward  whei'e 
Virginia  and  Paul  sometimes  danced,  re- 
ceived the  name  of  Concord.  An  old  tree, 
beneath  the  shade  of  which  Madame  de  la 
Tour  and  Margaret  used  to  recount  their 
misfortunes,  was  called  the  Burial-jDlace  of 
Tears.  They  bestowed  the  names  of  Brit- 
tany and  Normandy  on  two  little  plots  of 
ground,  where  they  had  sown  corn,  straw  * 
berries,  and  peas.  Domingo  and  Mary, 
wishing,  in  imitation  of  their  mistresses,  to 
recall  to  mind  Angola  and  FouUepointe,  the 
places  of  their  birth  in  Africa,  gave  thosQ 
names  to  the  little  fields  where  the  grass 
was  sown  with  which  they  wove  their  bas* 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


87 


kets,  and  where  they  had  planted  a  calabash-^ 
itree.  Thus  by  cultivating  the  productions' 
of  their  respective  climates,  these  exiled 
families  cherished  the  dear  illusions  which 
bind  us  to  our  native  country,  and  softened 
their  regrets  in  a  foreign  land.  Alas!  I 
have  seen  these  trees,  these  fountains,  these 
heaps  of  stones,  which  are  now  so  com- 
pletely overthrown, — ^which  now,  like  the 
desolated  plains  of  Greece,  present  nothing 
but  masses  of  ruin  and  affecting  remem- 
brances, all  but  called  into  life  by  the  many 
charming  appellations  thus  bestowed  upoa 
them ! 

But  perhaps  the  most  delightful  spot  of 
this  inclosure  was  that  called  Virginia's 
resting-place.  At  the  foot  of  the  rock  which 
bore  the  name  of  the  Discovery  of  Friend- 
ship, is  a  small  crevice,  whence  issues  a 
fountain, .  forming,  near  its  source,  a  little 
spot  of  marshy  soil  in  the  middle  of  a  field 
of  rich  grass.  At  the  time  of  Paul's  birth  I 
had  made  Margaret  a  present  of  an  Indian 
cocoa  w^hich  had  been  given  me,  and  which 
she  planted  on  the  border  of  this  fenny 
ground,  in  order  that  the  tree  might  one 
flay  serve  to  mark  the  epoch  of  her  son's 


88 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


birth.  Madame  de  la  Tour  planted  another 
cocoa  with  the  same  view,  at  the  birth  of 
Virginia.  These  nuts  produced  two  cocoa- 
trees,  which  formed  the  only  records  of  the 
two  families;  one  was  called  Paul's  tree, 
the  other,  Virginia's.  Their  growth  was  in 
the  same  proportion  as  that  of  the  two 
young  persons,  not  exactly  equal :  but  they 
rose,  at  the  end  of  twelve  years,  above  the 
roofs  of  the  cottages.  Already  their  tender 
stalks  were  interwoven,  '■  and  clusters  of 
young  cocoas  hung  from  them  over  the  basin 
of  the  fountain.  With  the  exception  of 
these  two  trees,  this  nook  of  the  rock  was 
left  as  it  had  been  decorated  by  nature. 
On  its  embrowned  and  moist  sides  broad 
plants  of  maiden-hair  glistened  with  their 
green  and  dark  stars;  and  tufts  of  wave- 
leaved  hart's  tongue,  suspended  like  long 
ribbons  of  ]3urpled  green,  floated  on  the  wind. 
Near  this  grew  a  chain  of  the  Madagascar 
periwinkle,  the  flowers  of  which  resemble 
the  red  gilliflower ;  and  the  long-podded 
capsicum,  the  seed-vessels  of  which  are  of 
the  color  of  blood,  and  more  resplendent 
than  coral.  Near  them,  the  herb  balm,  with 
its  heart-shaped  leaves,  and  the  sweet  basil. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


89 


which  has  the  odor  of  the  clove,  exhaled 
the  most  delicious  perfumes.  From  the  pre- 
cipitous side  of  the  mountain  hung  the 
graceful  lianas,  like  floating  draperies,  form- 
ing magnificent  canopies  of  verdure  on  the 
face  of  the  rocks.  The  sea-birds,  allured  by 
the  stillness  of  these  retreats,  resorted  here 
to  pass  the  night.  At  the  hour  of  sunset 
we  could  perceive  the  curlew  and  the  stint 
skimming  along  the  seashore ;  the  frigate- 
bird  poised  high  in  air  ;  and  the  white  bird 
of  the  tropic,  which  abandons,  with  the  star 
of  day,  the  solitudes  of  the  Indian  ocean. 
Virginia  took  pleasure  .in  resting  herself 
upon  the  border  of  this  fountain,  decorated 
with  wild  and  sublime  magnificence.  She 
often  went  thither  to  wash  the  linen  of  the 
family  beneath  the  shade  of  the  two  cocoa- 
trees,  and  thither  too  she  sometimes  led  her 
goats  to  graze.  While  she  was  making 
cheeses  of  their  milk,  she  loved  to  see  them 
browse  on  the  maiden-hair  fern  which  clothed 
the  steep  sides  of  the  rock,  and  hung  sus- 
pended by  one  of  its  cornices,  as  on  a  ped- 
estal. Paul,  observing  that  Virginia  was 
fond  of  this  spot,  brought  thither,  from  the 
neighboring  forest,  a  great  variety  of  birds* 


90 


PAUL  ANB  VIRGINIA, 


nests.  The  old  birds  following  their  young, 
soon  established  themselves  in  this  new 
colony.  Virginia,  at  stated  times,  distrib- 
uted amongst  them  grains  of  rice,  millet, 
and  maize.  As  soon  as  she  appeared,  the 
whistling  blackbird,  the  amadavid  bird, 
whose  note  is  so  soft,  the  cardinal,  with  its 
flame-colored  plumage,  forsook  their  bushes  ; 
the  paroquet,  green  as  an  emerald,  de- 
scended from  the  neighboring  fan-palms,  the 
partridge  ran  along  the  grass ;  all  advanced 
promiscuously  towards  her,  like  a  brood  of 
chickens :  and  she  and  Paul  found  an  ex- 
haustless  source  of  amusement  in  observing 
their  sports,  their  repasts,  and  their  loves. 

Amiable  children  I  thus  passed  your  ear- 
lier days  in  innocence,  and  in  obeying  the 
impulses  of  kindness.  How  many  times,  on 
this  very  spot,  have  your  mothers,  pressing 
you  in  their  arms,  blessed  Heaven  for  the  con- 
solation your  unfolding  virtues  prepared  for 
their  declining  years,  while  they  at  the  same 
time  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  you 
begin  life  under  the  happiest  auspices! 
How  many  times,  beneath  the  shade  of  those 
rocks,  have  I  partaken  with  them  of  your 
rural  repasts,  which  never  cost  any  animal 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


91 


its  life !  Gourds  full  of  milk,  fresh  eggs, 
cakes  of  rice  served  up  on  plantain  leaves, 
with  baskets  of  mangoes,  oranges,  dates, 
pomegranates,  pine-apples,  furnished  a 
wholesome  repast,  the  most  agreeable  to  the 
eye,  as  well  as  delicious  to  the  taste,  that 
can  possibly  be  imagined. 

Like  the  repast,  the  conversation  was 
mild,  and  free  from  everything  having  a 
tendency  to  do  harm.  Paul  often  talked  of 
the  labors  of  the  day  and  of  the  morrow. 
He  was  continually  planning  something  for 
the  accommodation  of  their  little  society. 
Here  he  discovered  that  the  paths  were 
rugged ;  there,  that  the  seats  were  uncom- 
fortable: sometimes  the  young  arbors  did 
not  afford  sufficient  shade,  and  Virginia 
might  be  better  pleased  elsewhere. 

During  the  rainy  season  the  two  families 
met  together  in  the  cottage,  and  employed 
themselves  in  weaving  mats  of  grass,  and 
baskets  of  bamboo.  Rakes,  spades,  and 
hatchets,  were  ranged  along  the  walls  in  the 
most  perfect  order ;  and  near  these  instru- 
ments of  agriculture  were  heaped  its  prod- 
ucts,— bags  of  rice,  sheaves  of  corn,  and 
baskets  of  plantains.    Some  degree  of  lux- 


92  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 

nry  usually  accompanies  abundance ;  and 
Virginia  was  taught  by  her  mother  and 
Margaret  to  prepare  sherbet  and  cordials 
from  the  juice  of  the  sugar-cane,  the  lemon 
and  the  citron. 

When  night  came,  they  all  supped  to- 
gether by  the  light  of  a  lamp ;  after  which 
Madame  de  la  Tour  or  Margaret  related 
some  story  of  travelers  benighted  in  those 
woods  of  Europe  that  are  still  infested  by 
banditti ;  or  told  a  dismal  tale  of  some  ship- 
wrecked vessel,  thrown  by  the  tempest 
upon  the  rocks  of  a  desert  island.  To  these 
recitals  the  children  listened  with  eager  at- 
tention, and  earnestly  hoped  that  Heaven 
would  one  day  grant  them  the  joy  of  per- 
forming the  rites  of  hospitality  towards 
such  unfortunate  persons.  When  the  time 
for  repose  arrived,  the  two  families  sepa- 
rated and  retired  for  the  night,  eager  to 
meet  again  the  following  morning.  Some- 
times they  were  lulled  to  repose  by  the 
beating  of  the  rains,  w^hich  fell  in  torrents 
upon  the  roofs  of  their  cottages,  and  some- 
times by  the  hollow  winds,  which  brought 
to  their  ear  the  distant  roar  of  the  waves 
breaking  upon  the  shore.    They  blessed 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


93 


God  for  their  own  safety,  the  feeling  of 
which  was  brought  home  more  forcibly  to 
their  minds  by  the  sound  of  remote  danger. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  occasionally  read 
aloud  some  affecting  history  of  the  Old  or 
Xew  Testament.  Her  auditors  reasoned 
but  little  upon  these  sacred  volumes,  for 
their  theology  centered  in  a  feeling  of  devo- 
tion towards  the  Supreme  Being,  like  that 
of  nature ;  and  their  morality  was  an  active 
principle,  like  that  of  the  Gospel.  These 
families  had  no  particular  days  devoted  to 
pleasure,  and  others  to  sadness.  Every  day 
was  to  them  a  holiday,  and  all  that  sur- 
rounded them  one  holy  temple,  in  which 
they  ever  adored  the  Infinite  Intelligence, 
the  Almighty  God,  the  friend  of  human 
kind.  A  feeling  of  confidence  in  his 
supreme  power  filled  their  minds  with  con- 
solation for  the  past,  with  fortitude  under 
present  trials,  and  with  hope  in  the  future. 
Compelled  by  misfortune  to  return  almost 
to  a  state  of  nature,  these  excellent  women 
had  thus  developed  in  their  own  and 
their  children's  bosoms  the  feelings  most 
natural  to  the  human  mind,  and  its  best 
support  under  affliction. 


94 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA, 


But,  as  clouds  sometimes  arise,  and  cast 
a  gloom  over  the  best  regulated  tempers,  so 
whenever  any  member  of  this  little  society 
appeared  to  be  laboring  under  dejection,  the 
rest  assembled  around,  and  endeavored  to 
banish  her  painful  thoughts  by  amusing  the 
mind  rather  than  by  grave  arguments 
against  them.  Each  performed  this  kind 
office  in  their  own  appropriate  manner: 
Margaret,  by  her  gayety;  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  by  the  gentle  consolations  of  religion ; 
Virginia,  by  her  tender  caresses ;  Paul,  by 
his  frank  and  engaging  cordiality.  Even 
Mary  and  Domingo  hastened  to  offer  their 
succor,  and  to  weep  with  those  that  wept. 
Thus  do  weak  plants  interweave  themselves 
with  each  other,  in  order  to  withstand  the 
fury  of  the  tempest. 

During  the  fine  season,  they  went  every 
Sunday  to  the  church  of  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  the  steeple  of  which  you  see  yonder 
upon  the  plain.  Many  wealthy  members  of 
the  congregation,  who  came  to  church  in 
palanquins,  sought  the  acquaintance  of 
these  united  families,  and  invited  them  to 
parties  of  pleasure.  But  they  always  re- 
pelled  these   overtures    with  respectful 


PAUL  AND  VIRGIN  I  A.  95 


politeness,  as  they  were  persuaded  that  the 
rich  and  powerful  seek  the  society  of  per- 
sons in  an  inferior  station  only  for  the  sake 
of  surrounding  themselves  with  flatterers, 
and  that  every  flatterer  must  applaud  alike 
all  the  actions  of  his  patron,  whether  good 
or  bad.  On  the  other  hand,  they  avoided, 
with  equal  care,  too  intimate  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  lower  class,  who  are  ordi- 
narily jealous,  calumniating,  and  gross. 
They  thus  acquired,  with  some,  the  charac- 
ter of  being  timid,  and  ivith  others,  of 
pride:  but  their  reserve  was  accompanied 
with  so  much  obhging  politeness,  above  all 
towards  the  unfortunate  and  the  unhappy, 
that  they  insensibly  acquired  the  respect 
of  the  rich  and  the  confidence  of  the 
poor. 

After  service,  some  kind  office  was  often 
required  at  their  hands  by  their  poor  neigh- 
bors. Sometimes  a  person  troubled  in  mind 
sought  their  advice;  sometimes  a  child 
begged  them  to  visit  its  sick  mother,  in  one 
of  the  adjoining  hamlets.  They  always  took 
with  them  a  few  remedies  for  the  ordinary 
diseases  of  the  country,  which  they  adminis- 
tered in  that  soothing  manner  which  stamps 


96 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


a  value  upon  the  smallest  favors.  Above 
all,  they  met  with  singular  success  in  ad- 
ministering to  the  disorders  of  the  mind,  so 
intolerable  in  solitude,  and  under  the  in- 
firmities of  a  weakened  frame.  Madame  de 
la  Tour  spoke  with  such  sublime  confidence 
of  the  Divinity,  that  the  sick,  while  listening 
to  her,  almost  believed  him  present.  Vir- 
ginia of  ten  returned  home  with  her  eyes  full 
of  tears,  and  her  heart  overflowing  with 
delight,  at  having  had  an  opportunity  of  do- 
ing good ;  for  to  her  generally  was  confided 
the  task  of  preparing  and  administering  the 
medicines, — a  task  which  she  fulfilled  with 
angelic  sweetness.  After  these  visits  of 
charity,  they  sometimes  extended  their  walk 
by  the  Sloping  Mountain,  till  they  reached 
my  dwelling,  where  I  used  to  prepare  dinner 
for  them  on  the  banks  of  the  little  rivulet 
which  glidee^  near  my  cottage.  I  procured 
for  these  occasions  a  few  bottles  of  old  wizie, 
in  order  to  heighten  the  relish  of  our  Oriental 
repast  by  the  more  genial  productions  of 
Europe.  At  other  times  we  met  on  the  sea- 
shore at  the  mouth  of  some  little  river,  or 
rather  mere  brook.  We  brought  from  home 
the  provisions  furnished  us  by  our  gardens, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


97 


to  which  we  added  those  supplied  us  by  the 
sea  in  abundant  variety.  We  caught  no 
these  shores  the  mullet,  the  roach,  and  the 
sea-urchin,  lobsters,  shrimps,  crabs,  oysters, 
and  all  other  kinds  of  shell-fish.  In  this 
way,  we  often  enjoyed  the  most  tranquil 
pleasures  in  situations  the  most  terrific. 
Sometimes,  seated  upon  a  rock,  under  the 
hade  of  the  velvet  sunflower- tree,  we  saw 
tho  enormous  waves  of  the  Indian  Ocean 
break  beneath  our  feet  with  a  tremendous 
noise,  Paul,  who  could  swim  like  a  fish, 
would  advance  on  the  reefs  to  meet  the 
ccming  billows  ;  then,  at  their  near  approach, 
vvould  run  back  to  the  beach,  closely  pursued 
by  the  foaming  breakers,  which  threw  them- 
selves, with  a  roaring  noise,  far  on  the  sands. 
But  Virginia,  at  this  sight,  uttered  piercing 
cries,  and  said  that  such  sports  frightened 
her  too  much. 

Other  amusements  were  not  wanting  on 
these  festive  occasions.  Our  repasts  were 
generally  followed  by  the  songs  and  dances 
of  the  two  young  people.  Virginia  sang  the 
happiness  of  pastoral  life,  and  the  misery  of 
those  who  were  impelled  by  avarice  to  cross 
the  raging  ocean,  rather  than  cultivate  the 


98 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


€arth,  and  enjoy  its  bounties  in  peace.  Some- 
times she  performed  a  pantomime  with  Paul, 
after  the  manner  of  the  negroes.  The  first 
language  of  man  is  pantomime :  it  is  known 
to  all  nations,  and  is  so  natural  and  ex- 
pressive,  that  the  children  of  the  European 
inhabitants  catch  it  with  facility  from  the 
negroes.  Virginia,  recalling,  from  among 
the  histories  which  her  mother  had  read  to 
her,  those  which  had  affected  her  most,  rep- 
resented the  principal  events  in  them  with 
beautiful  simplicity.  ,  Sometimes  at  the 
«ound  of  Domingo's  tantam  she  appeared 
upqn  the  green  sward,  bearing  a  pitcher 
upon  her  head,  and  advanced  with  a  timid 
step  towards  the  source  of  a  neighboring 
fountain  to  draw  water.  Domingo  and 
Mary,  personating  the  shepherds  of  Midian, 
■forbade  her  to  approach,  and  repulsed  she 
sternly.  Upon  this  Paul  flew  to  her  succor, 
beat  away  the  shepherds,  filled  Virginia's 
pitcher,  and  placing  it  upon  her  head,  bound 
'her  brows  at  the  same  time  with  a  wreath 
of  the  red  flowers  of  the  Madagascar  peri- 
winkle, which  served  to  heighten  the  deli- 
cacy of  her  complexion.  Then  joining  in 
their  sports,  I  took  upon  myself  the  part  of 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA.  99 


Raguel,  and  bestowed  upon  Paul,  my  daugh- 
ter Zepliora  in  marriage. 

Another  time  Virginia  would  represent 
the  unhappy  Ruth,  returning  poor  and 
widowed  with  her  mother-in-law,  who,  after 
so  prolonged  an  absence,  found  herself  as 
unknown  as  in  a  foreign  land.  Domingo 
and  Mary  personated  the  reapers.  The 
sui)posed  daughter  of  Naomi  followed  their 
steps,  gleaning  here  and  there  a  few  ears  of 
corn.  When  interrogated  by  Paul, — a  part 
which  he  performed  with  the  gravity  of  a 
patriarch, — she  answered  his  questions  with 
a  faltering  voice.  He  then,  touched  with 
compassion,  granted  an  asylum  to  innocence, 
and  hospitality  to  misfortune.  lie  filled  her 
lap  with  plenty ;  and,  leading  her  towards 
us  as  before  the  elders  of  the  city,  declared 
his  purpose  to  take  her  in  marriage.  At 
this  scene,  Madame  de  la  Tour,  recalling  the 
desolate  situation  in  which  she  had  been  left 
by  her  relations,  her  widowhood,  and  the 
kind  reception  she  had  met  with  from  Mar- 
garet, succeeded  now  by  the  soothing  hope 
of  a  happy  union  between  their  children, 
could  not  forbear  weeping ;  and  these  mixed 
recollections  of  good  and  evil  caused  us  all 


100 


PAUL  AND  VIEGlJSriA. 


to  unite  with  her  in  shedding  tears  of  sorrow 
and  of  joy. 

These  dramas  Avere  performed  with  such 
an  air  of  reality  that  you  might  have  fancied 
yourself  transported  to  the  plains  of  Syria 
or  of  Palestine.  We  were  not  unfurnished 
wdth  decorations,  lights,  or  an  orchestra, 
suitable  to  the  represei^tation.  The  scene 
was  generally  placed  in  an  open  space  of 
the  forest,  tlie  diverging  paths  from  which 
formed  around  us  numerous  arcades  of 
foliage,  under  which  we  were  sheltered  from 
the  heat  all  the  middle  of  the  day ;  but  when 
the  sun  descended  towards  the  horizon,  its 
rays,  broken  by  the  trunks  of  the  trees, 
darted  amongst  the  shadows  of  the  forest  in 
long  lines  of  light,  producing  the  most  mag- 
nificent effect.  Sometimes  its  broad  disk 
appeared  at  the  end  of  an  avenue,  lighting 
it  up  with  insufferable  brightness.  The 
foliage  of  the  trees,  illuminated  from  beneath 
by  its  saffron  beams,  glowed  with  the  luster 
of  the  topaz  and  the  emerald.  Their  brown 
and  mossy  trunks  appeared  transformed  into 
columns  of  antique  bronze ;  and  the  birds, 
which  had  retired  in  silence  to  their  leafy 
shades  to  pass  the  night,  surprised  to  see 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


101 


the  radiance  of  the  second  mornmg,  hailed 
the  star  of  day  all  together  with  innumer- 
able carols. 

Night  often  overtook  us  during  these 
rural  entertainments  ;  but  the  purity  of  the 
air  and  the  warmth  of  the  climate,  admitted 
of  our  sleeping  in  the  woods,  without  incur- 
ring any  danger  by  exposure  to  the  weather, 
and  no  less  secure  from  the  molestation  of 
robbers.  On  our  return  the  following  day 
to  our  respective  habitations,  we  found  them 
in  exactly  the  same  state  in  which  they  had 
been  left.  In  this  island,  then  unsophisti- 
cated by  the  pursuits  of  commerce,  such 
were  the  honesty  and  prhnitive  manners 
of  the  population,  that  the  doors  of  many 
houses  were  without  a  key,  and  even  a  lock 
itself  was  an  object  of  curiosity  to  not  a  few 
of  the  native  inhabitants. 

There  were,  however,  some  days  in  the 
years  celebrated  by  Paul  and  Virginia  in  a 
more  peculiar  manner ;  these  were  the  birth- 
days of  their  mothers.  Yirgi^iia  never  failed 
the  day  before  to  prepare  som,e  wheaten 
cakes,  which  she  distributed  a-mong  a  few 
poor  white  families,  born  in  the  island,  who 
had  never  eaten  European  bread.  These 


102  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


unfortunate  people,  uncared  for  by  the 
blacks,  were  reduced  to  live  on  tapioca  in 
the  woods ;  and  as  they  had  neither  the  in- 
sensibility which  is  the  result  of  slavery,  nor 
the  fortitude  which  spring  from  a  liberal 
education,  to  enable  them  to  support  their 
poverty,  their  situation  was  deplorable. 
These  cakes  were  all  that  Virginia  had  it  hi 
her  j)ower  to  give  away,  but  she  conferred 
the  gift  in  so  delicate  a  manner  as  to  add 
tenfold  to  its  value.  In  the  first  place,  Paul 
was  commissioned  to  take  the  cakes  himself 
to  these  families,  and  get  their  promise  to 
come  and  spend  the  next  day  at  Madame  d(^ 
la  Tour's.  Accordingly,  mothers  of  families, 
with  two  or  three  thin,  yellow,  miserabl(j 
looking  daughters,  so  timid  that  they  dared 
not  look  up,  made  their  appearance.  Vir- 
ginia soon  put  them  at  their  ease ;  she 
waited  upon  them  with  refreshments,  the 
excellence  of  which  she  endeavored  to 
heighten  by  relating  some  particular  cir- 
cumstance which,  in  her  own  estimation, 
vastly  improved  them.  One  beverage  had 
been  prepared  by  Margaret ;  another,  by  her 
mother :  her  brother  himself  had  climbed 
some  lofty  tree  for  the  very  fruit  she  was 


PAUL  AND  VIBGIJSriA.  103^ 

presenting.  She  would  then  get  Paul  ta 
dance  with  them,  nor  would  she  leave  them 
till  she  saw  that  they  were  happy.  She^ 
\vished  them  to  partake  of  thei  joy  of  her 
own  family.  "  It  is  only,"  she  said,  "  by 
promoting  the  happiness  of  others,  that  we 
can  secure  our  own."  When  they  left,  she 
generally  presented  them  with  some  little 
airticle  they  seemed  to  fancy,  enforcing  their 
acceptance  of  it  by  some  delicate  pretext, 
that  she  might  not  appear  to  know  they  were 
in  want.  If  she  remarked  that  their  clothes 
were  much  tattered,  she  obtained  her 
mother's  permission  to  give  them  some  of 
her  own,  and  then  sent  Paul  to  leave  them 
secretly  at  their  cottage  doors.  She  thus 
followed  the  divine  precept, — concealing  the 
benefactor,  and  revealing  only  the  benefit. 

Your  Europeans,  whose  minds  are  imbued 
itom  infancy  with  prejudices  at  variance 
\dth  happiness,  cannot  imagine  all  the  in- 
atruction  and  pleasure  to  be  derived  trom 
Tiature.  Your  souls,  confined  to  a  small 
sphere  of  intelligence,  soon  reach  the  limit 
of  its  artificial  enjoyments :  but  nature  and 
the  heart  are  inexhaustible.  Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia had  neither  clock,  nor  almanack,  nor 


104  PA      AND  VIRGINIA. 


books  of  chronology,  history  or  philosophy. 
The  periods  of  their  lives  were  regulated  by 
those  of  the  operations  of  nature,  and  their 
familiar  conversation  had  a  reference  to  the 
changes  of  the  seasons.  They  knew  tha 
time  of  day  by  the  shadows  of  the  trees ;  the 
seasons,  by  the  times  when  those  trees  bore 
flowers  or  fruit;  and  the  years,  by  the 
number  of  their  harvests.  These  soothing 
images  diffused  an  inexpressible  charm  over 
their  conversation.  "It  is  time  to  dine," 
said  Virginia,  "  the  shadows  of  the  plantain- 
trees  are  at  their  roots : "  or,  "  Mght  ap- 
proaches, the  tamarinds  are  closing  their 
leaves."  "  When  will  you  come  and  see 
us  ?  "  inquired  some  of  her  companions  in  the 
neighborhood.  "  At  the  time  of  the  sugar- 
canes,"  answered  Virginia.  "  Your  Adsit  will 
be  then  still  more  delightful,"  resumed  her 
young  acquaintances.  When  she  was  asked 
what  was  her  own  age  and  that  of  Paul, — 
My  brother,"  said  she,  "  is  as  old  as  the 
great  cocoa-tree  of  the  fountain ;  and  I  am 
as  old  as  the  little  one :  the  mangoes  have 
borne  fruit  twelve  times,  and  the  orang(3- 
trees  have  flowered  four-and-twenty  timci;, 
since  I  came  into  the  world."    Their  lives 


PAUL  AND  YIBGINIA.  105 


seemed  linked  to  that  of  the  trees,  like  those 
of  Fauns  or  Dryads.  They  knew  no  other 
historical  epochs  than  those  of  the  lives  of 
their  mothers,  no  other  chronology  than 
that  of  their  orchards,  and  no  other  philoso- 
phy than  that  of  doing  good,  and  resigning 
themselves  to  tlie  will  of  Heaven. 

What  need,  indeed,  had  these  young 
J""'  I'^  of  riches  or  learning  such  as  ours? 
\  1  their  necessities  and  their  ignorance 
increased  their  happiness.  No  day  passed 
in  which  they  were  not  of  some  service  to 
one  another,  or  in  which  they  did  not  mu- 
tually impart  some  instruction.  Yes,  in- 
struction ;  for  if  errors  mingled  with  it,  they 
were,  at  least,  not  of  a  dangerous  character, 
A  pure-minded  being  has  none  of  that  de- 
scription to  fear.  Thus  grew  these  children 
of  nature.  No  care  had  troubled  their 
peace,  no  intemperance  had  corrupted  their 
blood,  no  misplaced  passion  had  depraved 
their  hearts.  Love,  innocence,  and  piety, 
possessed  their  souls ;  and  those  intellectual 
graces  were  unfolding  daily  in  their  feat- 
ures, their  attitudes,  and  their  movements. 
Still  in  the  morning  )f  life,  they  had  all  its 
blooming  freshness  :  and  surely  such  in  the 


106  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


garden  of  Eden  appeared  our  first  parents, 
when  coming  from  the  hands  of  God,  they 
first  saw,  and  approached  each  other,  and 
conversed  together,  like  brother  and  sister. 
Virginia  was  gentle,  modest,  and  confiding 
as  Eve;  and  Paul,  like  Adam,  united  the 
stature  of  manhood  with  the  simplicity  of  a 
child. 

Sometimes,  if  alone  with  Virginia,  he  has 
a  thousand  times  told  me,  he  used  to  say  to 
her,  on  his  return  from  labor, — "  When  I 
am  wearied,  ^he  sight  of  you  refreshes  me. 
If  from  the  summit  of  the  mountain  I  per- 
ceive you  below  in  the  valley,  you.  appear  to 
me  in  the  midst  of  our  orchard  like  a  bloom- 
ing rosebud.  If  you  go  towards  our 
mother's  house,  the  partridge,  when  it  runs 
to  meet  its  young,  has  a  shape  less  beauti- 
ful, and  a  step  less  light.  When  I  lose 
sight  of  you  through  the  trees,  I  have  no 
need  to  see  you  in  order  to  find  you  again. 
Something  of  you,  I  know  not  how,  remains, 
for  me  in  the  air  through  which  you  have 
passed,  on  the  grass  whereon  you  have  been 
seated.  When  I  come  near  you,  you  delight 
all  my  senses.  The  azure  of  the  sky  is  less 
charming  than  the  blue  of  your  eyes,  and 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  107 

the  song  of  the  amadavid  bh-d  less  soft  than 
the  sound  of  your  voice.  If  I  only  touch 
you  with  the  tip  of  my  finger,  my  whole 
frame  trembles  with  pleasure.  Do  you  re- 
member the  day  when  we  crossed  over  the 
great  stones  of  the  river  of  the  Three 
Breasts?  I  was  very  tired  before  we 
reached  the  bank:  but,  as  soon  as  I  had 
taken  you  in  my  arms,  I  seemed  to  have 
wings  like  a  bird.  Tell  me  by  what  charm 
you  have  thus  enchanted  me  ?  Is  it  by  your 
wisdom? — Our  mothers  have  more  than 
either  of  us.  Is  it  by  your  caresses? — They 
embrace  me  much  oftener  than  you.  I 
think  it  must  be  by  your  goodness.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  you  walked  barefooted  to 
the  Black  River,  to  ask  pardon  for  the  poor 
runaway  slave.  Here,  my  beloved,  take 
this  flowering  branch  of  a  lemon-tree,  which 
I  have  gathered  in  the  forest :  you  will  let 
it  remain  at  night  near  your  bed.  Eat  this 
honeycomb  too,  which  I  have  taken  for  you 
from  the  top  of  a  rock.  But  first  lean  on 
my  bosom,  and  I  shall  be  refreshed." 

Virginia  would  answer  him, — "  Oh,  my 
dear  brother,  the  rays  of  the  sun  in  the 
morning  on  the  tops  of  the  rocks  give  ma 


108  PAUL  AJ^D  VIRGINIA, 


less  joy  than  the  sight  of  you.  I  love  my 
mother, — I  love  yours ;  but  when  they  call 
you  their  son,  I  love  them  a  thousand  times 
more.  When  they  caress  you,  I  feel  it  more 
sensibly  than  when  I  am  caressed  myself. 
You  ask  me  what  makes  you  love  me. 
Why,  all  creatures  that  are  brought  up  to- 
gether love  one  another.  Look  at  our  birds ; 
reared  up  in  the  same  nests,  they  love  each 
other  as  we  do ;  they  are  always  together 
like  us.  Hark!  how  they  call  and  answer 
from  one  tree  to  another-.  So  when  the 
echoes  bring  to  my  ears  the  air  which  you 
play  on  your  flute  on  the  top  of  the  mount- 
ain, I  repeat  the  words  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley.  You  are  dear  to  me  more  especially 
since  the  day  when  you  wanted  to  fight  the 
master  of  the  slave  for  me.  Since  that 
time  how  often  have  I  said  to  myself,  '  Ah, 
my  brother  has  a  good  heart ;  but  for  him, 
I  should  have  died  of  terror.'  I  pray  to 
God  every  day  for  my  mother  and  for  yours, 
and  for  our  poor  servants ;  but  when  I  pro- 
nounce your  name,  my  devotion  seems  to 
increase ; — I  ask  so  earnestly  of  God  that  no 
harm  may  befall  you!  Why  do  you  go  so 
far,  and  climb  so  high,  to  seek  fruits  and 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


109 


flowers  for  me?  Have  we  not  enough  iu 
our  garden  already?  How  much  you  are 
fatigued, — you  look  so  warm !  " — and  with 
her  little  white  handkerchief  she  would 
wipe  the  damps  from  his  face,  and  then  im- 
print a  tender  kiss  on  his  forehead. 

For  some  time  past,  however,  Virginia 
had  felt  her  heart  agitated  by  new  sensa- 
tions. Her  beautiful  blue  eyes  lost  their 
luster,  her  cheek  its  freshness,  and  her 
frame  was  overpowered  with  a  universal 
languor.  Serenity  no  longer  sat  upon  her 
brow,  nor  smiles  played  upon  her  lips.  She 
would  become  all  at  once  gay  without  cause 
for  joy,  and  melancholy  Avithout  any  sub- 
ject for  grief.  She  fled  her  innocent  amuse- 
ments, her  gentle  toils,  and  even  the  society 
of  her  beloved  family ;  wandering  about  the 
most  unfrequented  parts  of  the  plantations, 
and  seeking  everywhere  the  rest  which  she 
could  nowhere  find.  Sometimes,  at  the 
sight  of  Paul,  she  advanced  sportively  to 
meet  him ;  but,  when  about  to  accost  him, 
was  overcome  by  a  sudden  confusion ;  her 
pale  cheeks  were  covered  with  blushes,  and 
her  eyes  no  longer  dared  to  meet  those  of 
her  brother.    Paul  said  to  her,—"  The  rocks 


110  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


are  covered  with  verdure,  our  birds  begin  to 
sing  when  you  approach,  everytliing  around 
you  is  gay,  and  you  only  are  unhappy." 
He  then  endeavored  to  sootlie  her  by  his 
embraces,  but  she  turned  away  lier  head, 
and  fled,  trembling,  towards  her  mother. 
The  caresses  of  her  brother  excited  too 
much  emotion  in  her  agitated  heart,  and 
she  sought,  in  the  arms  of  her  mother,  ref- 
uge from  herself.  Paul,  unused  to  the 
secret  windings  of  the  female  heart,  vexed 
himself  in  vain  in  endeavoring  to  compre- 
hend the  meaning  of  these  new  and  strange 
caprices.  Misfortunes  seldom  come  alone, 
and  a  serious  calamity  now  impended  over 
these  families. 

One  of  those  summers,  which  sometimes 
desolate  the  countries  situated  between  the 
tropics,  now  began  to  spread  its  ravages 
over  this  island.  It  was  near  the  end  of 
December,  when  the  sun,  in  Capricorn,  darts 
Over  the  Mauritius,  during  the  space  of  three 
weeks,  its  vertical  fires.  The  southeast 
wind,  which  prevails  throughout  almost  the 
whole  year,  no  longer  blew.  Vast  columns 
of  dust  arose  from  the  highways,  and  hung 
suspended  in  the  air ;  the  ground  was  every « 


PAUL  AND  YIBGINIA, 


111 


where  broken  into  clefts ;  the  grass  was 
burnt  up ;  hot  exhalations  issued  from  the 
sides  of  the  mountains,  and  their  rivulets, 
for  the  most  part,  became  dry.  ISTo  refresh- 
ing cloud  ever  arose  from  the  sea :  fiery 
vapors,  only,  during  the  day,  ascended  from 
the  plains,  and  appeared,  at  sunset,  like  the 
reflection  of  a  vast  conflagration.  Night 
brought  no  coolness  to  the  heated  atmos- 
phere ;  and  the  red  moon  rising  in  the  misty 
horizon,  appeared  of  supernatural  magni- 
tude. The  drooping  cattle,  on  the  sides  of 
the  hills,  stretching  out  their  necks  towards 
heaven,  and  panting  for  breath,  made  the 
valleys  re-echo  with  their  melancholy  low- 
ings :  even  the  Caffre  by  whom  they  were 
led,  threw  himself  upon  the  earth,  in  search 
of  some  cooling  moisture  :  but  his  hopes 
were  vain;  the  scorching  sun  had  pene- 
trated the  whole  soil,  and  the  stifling  atmos- 
phere everywhere  resounded  with  the  buz- 
zing noise  of  insects,  seeking  to  allay  their 
thirst  with  the  blood  of  men  and  of  ani- 
mals. 

During  this  sultry  season,  Virginia's  rest- 
lessness and  disquietude  were  much  in* 
creased.    One  night,  in  particular,  being 


112  PAUL  AND  YIBGINIA. 


unable  to  sleep,  she  arose  from  her  bed,  sat 
down,  and  returned  to  rest  again ;  but  could 
find  in  no  attitude  either  slumber  or  repose. 
At  length  she  bent  her  way,  by  the  light  of 
the  moon,  towards  her  fountain,  and  gazed 
at  its  spring,  which,  notwithstanding  the 
drought,  still  trickled,  in  silver  threads  down 
the  brown  sides  of  the  rock.  She  fiung  her- 
self into  the  basin  :  its  coolness  reanimated 
her  spirits,  and  a  thousand  soothing  remem- 
brances came  to  her  mind.  She  recollected 
that  in  her  infancy  her  mother  and  Margaret 
had  amused  themselves  by  bathing  her  with 
Paul  in  this  very  spot ;  that  he  afterwards, 
reserving  this  bath  for  her  sole  use,  had 
hollowed  out  its  bed,  covered  the  bottom 
with  sand,  and  sown  aromatic  herbs  around 
its  borders.  She  saw  in  the  water,  upon  her 
naked  arms  and  bosom,  the  reflection  of  the 
two  cocoa  trees  which  were  planted  at  her 
own  and  her  brother's  birth,  and  which  inter- 
wove above  her  head  their  green  branches 
and  young  fruit.  She  thought  of  PauFs 
friendship,  sweeter  than  the  odor  of  the 
blossoms,  purer  than  the  waters  of  the  fount- 
ain, stronger  than  the  intertwining  palm- 
tree,  and  she  sighed.    Keiiecting  on  the  hour 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


113 


of  the  night,  and  the  profound  sohtude,  her 
imagination  became  disturbed.  Suddenly 
she  flew,  affrighted,  from  those  dangerous 
shades,  and  those  waters  wliich  seemed  to 
her  hotter  than  the  tropical  sunbeam,  and 
ran  to  her  mother  for  refuge.  More  tlian 
once,  wishing  to  reveal  her  sufferings,  slie 
pressed  her  mother's  hand  within  her  own ; 
more  than  once  she  was  ready  to  pronounce 
the  name  of  Paul :  but  her  oppressed  heart 
left  her  lips  no  power  of  utterance,  and,  lean- 
ing her  head  on  her  mother's  bosom,  she 
bathed  it  with  her  tears. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  thougli  she  easily  dis- 
cerned the  source  of  her  daughter's  uneasi- 
ness, did  not  think  proper  to  speak  to  her  on 
the  subject.  "My  dear  child,"  said  she, 
*'  offer  up  your  supplications  to  God,  who 
disposes  at  his  will  of  health  and  of  life, 
lie  subjects  you  to  trial  now,  in  order  to ' 
recompense  you  hereafter.  Remember  that 
we  are  only  placed  upon  earth  for  the  exer- 
cise of  virtue." 

The  excessive  heat  in  the  mean  time  raised 
vast  masses  of  vai)or  from  the  ocean,  which 
hung  over  the  island  like  an  immense  para- 
sol, and  gathered  round  the  summits  oi  the 
8 


114  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


mountains.  Long  flakes  of  fire  issued  from 
time  to  time  from  tliese  mist-embosomed 
peaks.  The  most  awful  thunder  soon  after 
re-eclioed  through  the  woods,  the  plains,  and 
the  valleys ;  the  rains  fell  from  the  skies  in 
cataracts ;  foaming  torrents  rushed  down 
the  sides  of  this  mountain  ;  the  bottom 
the  valley  became  a  sea,  and  the  elevated 
platform  on  w^hich  the  cottages  were  built, 
a  little  island.  The  accumulated  wateri§, 
having  no  other  outlet,  rushed  with  violence 
through  the  narrow  gorge  which  leads  into 
the  valley,  tossing  and  roaring,  and  bearing 
along  with  them  a  mingled  wreck  of  soil, 
trees,  and  rocks. 

The  trembling  families  meantime  ad- 
dressed  their  prayers  to  God  all  together  in 
the  cottage  of  Madame  de  la  Tour,  the  roof 
of  which  cracked  fearfully  from  the  force  of 
the  winds.  So  incessant  and  vivid  were  the 
lightnings,  that  although  the  doors  and  win- 
dow-shutters were  securely  fastened,  every 
object  without  .could  be  distinctly  seen 
through  the  joints  in  the  woodwork !  Paul, 
followed  by  Domingo,  went  with  intre- 
pidity from  one  cottage  to  another,  notwith- 
standing the  fury  of  the  tempest ;  here  sup* 


PAUL  AJS'D  VIRGINIA. 


115 


porting  a  partition  with  a  buttress,  there 
driving  in  a  stake ;  and  only  returning  to 
the  family  to  calm  their  fears,  by  the  ex- 
pression of  a  hope  that  the  storm  was  pass- 
ing away.  Accordingly,  in  the  evening  the 
rains  ceased,  the  trade-winds'of  the  south- 
east pursued  their  ordinary  course,  the  tem- 
pestuous clouds  were  driven  away  to  the 
northward,  and  the  setting  sun  appeared  in 
the  horizon. 

Virginia's  first  wish  was  to  visit  the  spot 
called  her  Resting-place.  Paul  approached 
her  with  a  timid  air,  and  offered  her  the 
assistance  of  his  arm ;  she  accepted  it  with 
a  smile,  and  they  left  the  cottage  together. 
The  air  was  clear  and  fresh :  white  vapors 
arose  from  the  ridges  of  the  mountain,  which 
was  furrowed  here  and  there  by  the  courses 
of  torrents,  marked  in  foam,  and  now  begin- 
ning to  dry  up  on  all  sides.  As  for  the  gar- 
den, it  was  completely  torn  to  pieces  by 
deep  water-courses,  the  roots  of  most  of  the 
fruit-trees  were  laid  bare,  and  vast  heaps  of 
sand  covered  the  borders  of  the  meadows, 
and  had  choked  up  Virginia's  bath.  The 
iwo  cocoa  trees,  however,  were  still  erect, 
and  still  retained  their  freshness  ;  but  they 


116  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


were  no  longer  surrounded  by  turf,  or  arbors, 
or  birds,  except  a  few  amadavid  birds,  which, 
upon  the  points  of  the  neighboring  rocks, 
were  lamenting,  in  plaintive  notes,  the  loss 
of  their  young. 

At  the  sight  of  this  general  desolation, 
Virginia  exclaimed  to  Paul, — "  You  brought 
birds  hither,  and  the  hurricane  has  killed 
them.  You  planted  this  garden,  and  it  is 
now  destroyed.  Everything  then  upon  earth 
perishes,  and  it  is  only  Heaven  that  is  not 
subject  to  change." — "  Why,"  answered 
Paul,  "  cannot  I  give  you  something  that 
belongs  to  heaven  ?  but  I  have  nothing  of 
my  own,  even  upon  the  earth."  Virginia 
with  a  blush  replied,  "  You  have  the  picture 
of  St.  Paul."  As  soon  as  she  had  uttered 
the  words,  he  flew  in  quest  of  it  to  his 
mother's  cottage.  This  picture  was  a  minia- 
ture of  Paul  the  Hermit,  which  Margaret, 
who  viewed  it  with  feelings  of  great  devo- 
tion, had  worn  at  her  neck  while  a  girl,  and 
which,  after  she  became  a  mother,  she  had 
placed  round  her  child's.  It  had  even  hap- 
pened, that  being,  while  pregnant,  aban- 
doned by  all  the  world,  and  constantly  oc- 
cupied in  contemplating  the  image  of  this 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


117 


benevolent  recluse,  her  offspring  had  con* 
tracted  some  resemblance  to  this  revered 
object.  She  therefore  bestowed  upon  him 
the  name  of  Paul,  giving  him  for  his  patron 
a  saint  who  had  passed  his  life  far  from 
mankind  by  whom  he  had  been  first  deceived 
and  then  forsaken.  Virginia,  on  receivings 
this  httle  present  from  the  hands  of  Paul, 
said  to  him,  with  emotion,  "  My  dear  brother, 
I  will  never  part  with  this  while  I  live ;  nor 
will  I  ever  forget  that  you  have  given  me 
the  only  thing  you  have  in  this  world."  At 
this  tone  of  friendship, — this  unhoped-for 
return  of  familiarity  and  tenderness,  Paul 
attempted  to  embrace  her ;  but,  light  as  a 
bird,  she  escaped  him,  and  fled  away,  leaving 
him  astonished,  and  unable  to  account  for 
conduct  so  extraordinary. 

Meanwhile  Margaret  said  to  Madame  do 
la  Tour, Why  do  we  not  unite  our  children, 
by  marriage  ?  They  have  a  strong  attach- 
ment for  each  other,  and  though  my  son 
hardly  understands  the  real  nature  of  his 
feelings,  yet  great  care  and  watchfulness 
will  be  necessary.  Under  such  circum- 
stances, it  will  be  as  well  not  to  leave  them 
too  much  together."    Madame  de  la  Tour 


118  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


replied,  "  They  are  too  young,  and  too  poor 
What  grief  would  it  occasion  us  to  seo 
Virginia  bring  into  the  world  unfortunatd 
children,  whom  she  would  not  perhaps  hava 
sufficient  strength  to  rear !  Your  negro, 
Domingo,  is  almost  too  old  to  labor ;  Mary 
is  infirm.  As  for  myself,  my  dear  friend, 
at  the  end  of  fifteen  years,  I  find  my  strength 
greatly  decreased ;  the  feebleness  of  age 
advances  rapidly  in  hot  climates,  and,  above 
all,  under  the  pressure  of  misfortune.  Paul 
is  our  only  hope :  let  us  wait  till  he  comes; 
to  maturity,  and  his  increased  strength 
enables  him  to  support  us  by  his  labor ;  at 
present  yon  well  know  that  we  have  only 
sufficient  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  day : 
but  were  we  to  send  Paul  for  a  short  time 
to  the  Indies,  he  might  acquire,  by  com^ 
merce,  the  means  of  purchasing  some  slaves  ; 
and  at  his  return  we  could  unite  him  to 
Virginia;  for  I  am  persuaded  no  one  on 
earth  would  render  her  so  happy  as  jowj 
son.  We  will  consult  our  neighbor  on  thh^ 
subject." 

They  accordingly  asked  my  advice,  which 
was  in  accordance  with  Madame  de  la  Tour's; 
opinion.    "  The  Indian  seas,"  I  observed  tc 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


119 


them,  "  are  calm,  and,  in  choosing  a  favor- 
able time  of  the  year,  the  voyage  out  is  sel- 
dom longer  than  six  weeks ;  and  the  same 
time  may  be  allowed  for  the  return  home. 
We  will  furnish  Paul  with  a  little  venture 
from  my  neighborhood,  where  he  is  much 
beloved.  If  we  were  only  to  supply  him 
with  some  raw  cotton,  of  which  we  make  no 
use  for  want  of  mills  to  work  it,  some  ebony 
which  is  here  so  common  that  it  serves  us 
for  firing,  and  some  rosin,  which  is  found  in 
our  woods,  he  would  be  able  to  sell  those 
articles,  though  useless  here,  to  good  advan- 
tage in  the  Indies." 

I  took  upon  myself  to  obtain  permission 
from  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  to  under- 
take this  voyage  ;  and  I  determined  pre- 
viously to  mention  the  affair  to  Paul.  But 
what  was  my  surprise,  when  this  young 
man  said  to  me,  with  a  degree  of  good  sense 
nbove  his  age,  "  And  why  do  you  wish  me  to 
leave  my  family  for  this  precarious  pursuit 
of  fortune  ?  Is  there  any  commerce  in  the 
world  more  advantageous  than  the  culture 
■  jf.  the  ground,  which  yields  sometimes  fifty 
or  a  hundred-fold  ?  If  we  wish  to  engage  irt 
commerce,  can  we  not  do  so  by  carrying  ou/ 


120  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


superfluities  to  the  town  without  my  wan- 
dering to  the  Indies  ?  Our  mothers  tell  me, 
that  Domingo  is  old  and  feeble  ;  but  I  am 
young,  and  gather  strength  every  day.  If 
any  accident  should  happen  during  my 
absence,  above  all  to  Virginia,  who  already 
suffers — Oh,  no,  no  ! — I  cannot  resolve  to 
leave  them." 

So  decided  an  answer  threw  me  into  great 
perplexity,  for  Madame  de  la  Tour  had  not 
concealed  from  me  the  cause  of  Virginia's 
illness  and  want  of  si)irits,  and  her  desire  of 
separating  these  young  people  till  they  were 
a  few  years  older.  I  took  care,  however,  not 
to  drop  anything  which  could  lead  Paul  to 
suspect  the  existence  of  these  motives. 

About  this  period  a  ship  from  France 
brought  Madame  de  la  Tour  a  letter  from 
her  aunt.  The  fear  of  death,  without  which 
hearts  as  insensible  as  hers  would  never  feel, 
had  alarmed  her  into  compassion.  When 
she  wrote  she  was  recovering  from  a  dan- 
gerous illness,  which  had,  however,  left  her 
incurably  languid  and  weak.  She  desired 
her  niece  to  return  to  France :  or,  if  her 
health  forbade  her  to  undertake  so  long  a 
voyage,  she  begged  her  to  send  Virginia,  on 


PAUL  AXD  VIBGnVIA, 


121 


whom  she  promised  to  bestow  a  good  educa- 
tion, to  procure  for  her  a  splendid  marriage 
and  to  leave  her  heiress  of  her  whole  fortune. 
She  concluded  by  enjoining  strict  obedience 
to  her  will,  in  gratitude,  she  said,  for  her 
great  kindness. 

At  the  perusal  of  this  letter  general  con- 
sternation spread  itself  through  the  whole 
assembled  party.  Domingo  and  Mary  began 
to  weep.  Paul,  motionless  with  surprise, 
appeared  almost  ready  to  burst  with  in- 
dignation ;  while  Virginia,  fixing  her  eyes 
anxiously  upon  her  mother,  had  not  power 
to  utter  a  single  word.  "And  can  you 
now  leave  us  ?  "  cried  Margaret  to  Madame 
de  la  Tour.  "  Xo,  my  dear  friend,  no,  my 
beloved  children,"  replied  Madame  de  la 
Tour  ;  "  I  Avill  never  leave  you.  I  have 
lived  with  you,  and  with  you  I  will  die.  I 
have  known  no  happiness  but  in  your  affec- 
tion. If  my  health  be  deranged,  my  past 
misfortunes  are  the  cause.  My  heart  has 
been  deeply  wounded  by  the  cruelty  of  my 
relations,  and  by  the  loss  of  my  beloved 
husband.  But  I  have  since  found  more 
consolation  and  more  real  happiness  with 
you  in  these  humble  huts,  than  all  the 


122  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


wealth  of  my  family  could  now  lead  me 
to  expect  in  my  own  country." 

At  this  soothing  language  every  eye  over- 
flowed with  tears  of  delight.  Paul,  pressing 
Madame  de  la  Tour  in  his  arms,  exclaimed, 
— "  Neither  will  I  leave  you  !  I  will  not  go 
to  the  Indies.  We  will  all  labor  for  yoUp 
dear  mamma  ;  and  you  shall  never  feel  any 
want  with  us."  But  of  the  Avhole  society, 
the  person  who  disjplayed  the  least  transport, 
and  who  probably  felt  the  most,  Avas  Vir- 
ginia :  and  during  the  remainder  of  the  day,^ 
the  gentle  gayety  which  flowed  from  her 
heart,  and  proved  that  her  peace  of  mind 
was  restored,  completed  the  general  satis- 
faction. 

At  sunrise  the  next  day,  just  as  they  had 
concluded  offering  up,  as  usual,  their  morn- 
ing prayer  before  breakfast,  Domingo  came 
to  inform  them  that  a  gentleman  on  horse- 
back, followed  by  two  slaves,  was  coming 
towards  the  plantation.  It  was  Monsieur 
de  la  Bourdonnais.  He  entered  the  cottage, 
where  he  found  the  family  at  breakfast. 
Virginia  had  prepared  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  country,  coffee,  and  rice  boiled 
in  water.    To  these  she  had  added  hot  yams^ 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA.  123 


a;nd  fresh  plantains.  The  leaves  of  the  plan-^ 
tam-tree  supplied  the  want  of  table  linen  ; 
and  calabash  shells,  split  in  two,  served  for 
cups.  The  Governor  exhibited,  at  first,  some 
astonishment  at  the  homeliness  of  the  dwell- 
ing; then,  addressing  himself  to  Madame 
de  la  Tour,  he  observed,  that  although 
public  affairs  drew  his  attention  too  much 
from  the  concerns  of  individuals,  she  had 
many  claims  on  his  good  offices.  "  You 
have  an  aunt  at  Paris,  madam,"  he  added, 
"  a  woman  of  quality,  and  immensely  rich, 
who  expects  that  you  will  hasten  to  see  her, 
and  who  means  to  bestow  upon  you  her 
whole  fortune."  Madame  de  la  Tour  replied, 
that  the  state  of  her  health  would  not  per- 
mit her  to  undertake  so  long  a  voyage. 
"  At  least,"  resumed  Monsieur  de  la  Bour- 
donnais,  you  cannot  without  injustice,  de- 
prive this  amiable  young  lady,  your  daugh- 
ter, of  so  noble  an  inheritance.  I  will  not 
conceal  from  you,  that  your  aunt  has  made 
use  of  her  influence  to  secure  your  daughter 
being  sent  to  her ;  and  that  I  have  received 
official  letters,  in  which  I  am  ordered  to 
€xert  my  authority,  if  necessary,  to  that 
effect.   But  as  I  only  wish  to  employ  my 


124  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


power  for  the  purpose  of  rendering  the 
inhabitants,  of  this  country  happy,  I  expect 
from  your  good  sense  the  voluntary  sacrifice 
of  a  few  years,  upon  which  your  daughter's 
estabhshment  in  the  world,  and  the  welfare 
of  your  whole  life  depends.  Wherefore  do 
we  come  to  these  islands  ?  Is  it  not  to  ac- 
quire a  fortune?  And  will  it  not  be  more 
agreeable  to  return  and  find  it  m  your  own 
country  ?  " 

He  then  took  a  large  bag  of  piastres  from 
one  of  his  slaves,  and  placed  it  upon  the 
table.  "This  sum,"  he  continued,  "is  al- 
lotted by  your  aunt  to  defray  the  outlay 
necessary  for  the  equipment  of  the  young 
lady  for  her  voyage."  Gently  reproaching 
Madame  de  la  Tour  for  not  having  had  re- 
course to  him  in  her  difficulties,  he  extolled 
at  the  same  time  her  noble  fortitude.  Upon 
this  Paul  said  to  the  Governor, — "  My  mother 
did  apply  to  you,  sir,  and  you  received  her 
ill." — "Have  you  another  child,  madam?" 
said  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  to  Madame 
de  la  Tour.  "  No,  sir,"  she  replied ;  "  this 
is  the  son  of  my  friend ;  but  he  and  Virginia 
are  equally  dear  to  us,  and  we  mutually 
consider  them  both  as  our  own  children." 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  125 


« Young  man,"  said  the  Governor  to  Paul, 
when  you  have  acquired  a  little  more  ex- 
perience of  the  world,  you  will  know  that  it 
is  the  misfortune  of  people  in  place  to  be 
deceived,  and  bestow,  in  consequence,  upon 
intriguing  vice,  that  which  they  Would  wish 
to  give  to  modest  merit." 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  at  the  re- 
quest of  Madame  de  la  Tour,  placed  himself 
next  to  her  at  table,  and  breakfasted  after 
the  manner  of  the  Creoles,  upon  coffee, 
mixed  with  rice  boiled  in  water.  He  was 
dehghted  with  the  order  and  cleanliness 
which  prevailed  in  the  little  cottage,  the 
harmony  of  the  two  interesting  families, 
and  the  zeal  of  their  old  servants.  "  Here,"  * 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  discern  only  wooden  fur- 
niture :  but  I  find  serene  countenances  and 
hearts  of  gold."  Paul,  enchanted  with  the 
affability  of  the  Governor,  said  to  him, — "  I 
wish  to  be  your  friend :  for  you  are  a  good 
man."  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  re- 
ceived with  pleasure  this  insular  compli- 
ment, and,  taking  Paul  by  the.  hand,  as- 
sured him  he  might  rely  upon  his  friend- 
ship. 

After  breakfast,  he  took  Madame  de  la 


126  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


Tour  aside  and  informed  her  that  an  oppor- 
tunity would  soon  offer  itself  of  sending  her 
daughter  to  France,  in  a  ship  which  was 
going  to  sail  in  a  short  time ;  that  he  would 
put  her  under  the  charge  of  a  lady,  one  of 
the  passengers,  who  was  a  relation  of  his^ 
own;  and  that  she  must  not  think  of  re- 
nouncing an  immense  fortune,  on  account 
of  the  pain  of  being  separated  from  her 
daughter  for  a  brief  interval.  "  Your  aunt,'' 
lie  added,  "cannot  live  more  than  two 
years ;  of  this  I  am  assured  by  her  friends. 
Think  of  it  seriously.  Fortune  does  not 
visit  us  every  day.  Consult  your  friends. 
I  am  sure  that  every  person  of  good  sense 
will  be  of  my  opinion."  She  answered, 
"  that,  as  she  desired  no  other  happiness 
henceforth  in  the  world  than  in  promoting 
that  of  her  daughter,  she  hoped  to  be  al- 
lowed to  leave  her  departure  for  France 
entirely  to  her  own  inclination." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  was  not  sorry  to  find 
an  opportunity  of  separating  Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia for  a  short  time,  and  provide  by  this 
means,  for  their  mutual  felicity  at  a  future, 
period.  She  took  her  daughter  aside,  and 
said  to  her, — "  My  dear  child,  our  servants 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  127 

are  now  old.  Paul  is  still  very  young,  Mar- 
garet is  advanced  in  years,  and  I  am  already 
infirm.  If  I  should  die  what  would  become 
of  you,  without,  fortune,  in  the  midst  of 
these  deserts?  You  would  then  be  left 
alone,  without  any  person  who  could  afford 
you  much  assistance,  and  would  be  obliged 
to  labor  without  ceasing,  as  a  hired  servant, 
in  order  to  support  your  wretched  exist- 
ence. This  idea  OA^ercomes  me  with  sor- 
row." Virginia  answered, — "God  has  ap- 
pointed us  to  labor,  and  to  bless  him  every 
day.  Up  to  this  time  he  has  never  forsaken 
us,  and  he  never  will  forsake  us  in  time  to 
come.  His  providence  watches  most  espe- 
cially over  the  unfortunate.  You  have  told 
me  this  very  often,  my  dear  motlier !  I  cannot 
resolve  to  leave  you."  Madame  de  la  Tour 
replied,  with  much  emotion, — "I  have  na 
other  aim  than  to  render  you  happy,  and  to 
marry  you  one  day  to  l\iul,  who  is  not 
really  your  brother.  Remember,  then,  that 
his  fortune  depends  upon  you." 

A  young  girl  who  is  in  love  believes  that 
every  one  else  is  ignorant  of  her  passion ; 
she  throws  over  her  eyes  the  veil  with  which 
she  covers  the  feelings  of  her  heart;  but 


328 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


when  it  is  once  lifted  by  a  friendly  hand, 
the  hidden  sorrows  of  her  attachment  es- 
cape as  through  a  newly-opened  barrier,  and 
the  sweet  outpourings  of  unrestrained  con- 
fidence succeed  to  her  former  mystery  and 
reserve.  Virginia,  deeply  affected  by  this 
new  proof  of  her  mother's  tenderness,  re- 
lated to  her  the  cruel  struggles  she  had 
midergone,  of  which  heaven  alone  had  been 
witness;  she  saw,  she  said,  the  hand  of 
Providence  in  the  assistance  of  an  affection- 
ate mother,  who  approved  of  her  attach- 
ment ;  and  would  guide  her  by  her  counsels ; 
and  as  she  was  now  strengthened  by  such 
support,  every  consideration  led  her  to  re- 
main with  her  mother,  without  anxiety  for 
the  present,  and  without  apprehension  for 
the  future. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  perceiving  that  this 
confidential  conversation  had  produced  an 
effect  altogether  different  from  that  which 
she  expected,  said, — "  My  dear  child,  I  do 
not  wish  to  constrain  you ;  think  over  it  at 
leisure,  but  conceal  your  affection  from  Paul. 
It  is  better  not  to  let  a  man  know  that  the 
heart  of  his  mistress  is  gained." 

Virginia  and  her  mother  were  sitting  to- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  129 


getlaer  by  themselves  the  same  evening", 
when  a  tall  man,  dressed  in  a  blufe  cassock, 
entered  their  cottage.  He  was  a  missionary 
priest  and  the  confessor  of  Madame  de  la 
Tour  and  her  daughter,  who  had  now  been 
sent  them  by  the  Governor.  "  My  children," 
he  exclaimed  as  he  entered,  "  God  be  praised ! 
you  are  now  rich.  You  can  now  attend  to 
the  kind  suggestions  of  your  benevolent 
hearts,  and  do  good  to  the  poor.  I  know 
what  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  has  said 
to  you,  and  what  you  have  said  in  reply. 
Your  health,  deat  madam,  obliges  you  to 
remain  here;  but  you,  young  lady,  are  with- 
out excuse.  We  must  obey  the  direction  of 
Providence :  and  we  must  also  obey  our  aged 
relations,  even  when  they  are  unjust.  A 
sacrifice  is  required  of  you  ;  but  it  is  the  will 
of  God.  Our  Lord  devoted  himself  for  y(;u  ; 
and  you  in  imitation  of  his  example,  must 
give  up  something  for  the  welfare  of  your 
family.  Your  voyage  to  France  will  end 
happily.  You  will  surely  consent  to  go,  my 
dear  young  lady." 

Virginia,  with  downcast  eyes,  answered, 
trembling,  "  If  it  is  the  command  of  God,  1 
will  not  presume  to  oppose  it.   Let  the  v/iU 


13a  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

of  God  be  done!"  As  she  uttered  these 
words,  she  wept. 

The  priest  went  away,  m  order  to  inform 
the  Governor  of  the  success  of  his  mission. 
In  the  mean  time  Madame  de  la  Tour  sent 
Domingo  to  request  me  to  come  to  her,  that 
she  might  consult  me  respecting  Virginia's 
departure,  I  was  not  at  all  of  opinion  that 
she  ought  to  go.  I  consider  it  as  a  fixed 
principle  of  happiness,  that  we  ought  to  pre- 
fer the  advantages  of  nature  to  those  of  for- 
tune, and  never  go  in  search  of  that  at  a  dis- 
tance, which  we  may  find  at  home, — in  our 
ewn  bosoms.  But  what  could  be  expected 
from  my  advice,  in  opposition  to  the  illu- 
■sions  of  a  splendid  fortune  ? — or  from  my 
simple  reasoning,  when  in  competition  with 
the  prejudices  of  the  world,  and  an  author- 
ity held  sacred  by  Madame  de  la  Tour? 
This  lady  indeed  had  only  consulted  me  out 
of  politeness  ;  she  had  ceased  to  deliberate 
since  she  had  heard  the  decision  of  her  con- 
iessor.  Margaret  herself,  who,  notwith- 
f;tanding  the  advantages  she  expected  for 
ber  son  from  the  possession  of  Virginia's 
fortune,  had  hitherto  opposed  her  departure 
made  no  further  objections.   As  for  Paul,  in 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  131 


ignorance  of  what  had  been  determined,  but 
alarmed  at  the  secret  conversations  which 
Virginia  had  been  holding  with  her  mother, 
he  abandoned  himself  to  melancholy.  "  They 
are  plotting  something  against  me,"  cried 
he,  "  for  they  conceal  everything  from  me." 

A  report  having  in  the  mean  time  been 
spread  in  the  island  that  fortune  had  visited 
these  rocks,  merchants  of  every  description 
were  seen  climbing  their  steep  ascent.  Now, 
for  the  first  time,  were  seen  displayed  in 
these  humble  huts  the  richest  stuffs  of  India ; 
the  fine  dimity  of  Gondelore ;  the  handker- 
chiefs of  Pellicate  and  Masulipatan ;  the 
plain,  striped,  and  embroidered  muslins  of 
Dacca,  so  beautifully  transparent :  the  deli- 
cately white  cottons  of  Surat,  and  linens  of 
all  colors.  They  also  brought  with  them 
the  gorgeous  silks  of  China,  satin  damasks, 
some  white,  and  others  grass-green  and 
bright  red  ;  pink  tafEetas,  with  a  profusion 
of  satins  and  gauze  of  Tonquin,  both  plain 
and  decorated  with  flowers ;  soft  pekins, 
downy  as  cloth ;  with  white  and  yellow 
nankeens,  and  the  calicoes  of  Madagascar. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  wished  her  daughter 
to  purchase  whatever  she  hked;  she  only 


132  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

examined  the  goods,  and  inquired  the  price, 
to  take  care  that  the  dealers  did  not  cheat 
her.  Virginia  made  choice  of  everything 
she  thought  would  be  useful  or  agreeable  to 
her  mother,  or  to  Margaret  and  her  son. 
"  This,"  said  she,  "  will  be  wanted  for  fur- 
nishing the  cottage,  and  that  will  be  very 
useful  to  Mary  and  Domingo."  In  short, 
the  bag  of  piastres  was  almost  emptied  be- 
fore she  even  began  to  consider  her  own 
wants  ;  and  she  was  obliged  to  receive  back 
for  her  own  use  a  share  of  the  presents 
which  she  had  distributed  among  the  family 
circle. 

Paul,  overcome  with  sorrow  at  the  sight 
of  these  gifts  of  fortune,  which  he  felt  were 
a  presage  of  Virginia's  departure,  came  a 
few  days  after  to  my  dwelling.  With  an  air 
of  deep  despondency  he  said  to  me, — "  My 
sister  is  going  away  ;  she  is  already  making 
preparations  for  her  voyage.  I  conjure  you 
to  come  and  exert  your  influence  over  her 
mother  and  mine,  in  order  to  detain  her 
here."  I  could  not  refuse  the  young  man's 
solicitations,  although  well  convinced  that 
my  representations  would  be  unavaiUng. 

Virginia  had  ever  appeared  to  me  charm- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  133 


2ng  when  clad  in  the  coarse  cloth  of  Bengal, 
with  a  red  handkerchief  tied  around  her 
head  :  you  may  therefore  imagine  how  much 
her  beauty  was  increased,  when  she  was 
attired  in  the  graceful  and  elegant  costume 
worn  by  the  ladies  of  this  country !  She 
had  on  a  white  muslin  dress,  lined  with  pink 
taffeta.  Her  somewhat  tall  and  slender 
figure  was  shown  to  advantage  in  her  new 
attire,  and  the  simple  arrangement  of  her 
hair  accorded  admirably  with  i^he  form  of 
her  head.  Her  fine  blue  eyes  were  filled 
with  an  expression  of  melancholy ;  and  the 
struggles  of  passion,  with  which  lier  heart 
was  agitated,  imparted  a"  flush  to  her  6heek, 
and  to  her  voice  a  tone  of  deep  emotion. 
The  contrast  between  her  pensive  look  and 
her  gay  habiliments  rendered  her  more  in- 
teresting than  ever,  nor  was  it  possible  to 
see  or  hear  her  unmoved.  Paul  became 
more  and  more  melancholy ;  and  at  length 
Margaret,  distressed  at  the  situation  of  her 
son,  took  him  aside,  and  said  to  him, — "  Wh}'-, 
my  dear  child,  will  you  cherish  vain  hopes, 
which  will  only  render  your  disappointment 
more  bitter?  It  is  time  for  me  to  make 
known  to  you  the  secret  of  your  life  and  of 


134  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


mine.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  belongs,  by 
her  mother's  side,  to  a  rich  and  noble  family, 
•while  you  are  but  the  son  of  a  poor  peasant 
girl ;  and  what  is  worse,  you  are  illegiti- 
mate." 

Paul,  who  had  never  heard  this  last  ex- 
pression before,  inquired  with  eagerness  its 
meaning.  His  mother  replied,  "  I  was  not 
married  to  your  father.  When  I  was  a  girl, 
seduced  by  love,  I  was  guilty  of  a  weakness 
of  which  you  are  the  offspring.  The  conse- 
quence of  my  fault  is,  that  you  are  deprived 
of  the  protection  of  a  father's  family,  and  by 
my  flight  from  home  you  have  also  lost  that 
of  your  mother's.  Unfortunate  child !  you 
have  no  relation  in  the  world  but  me !  " — - 
and  she  shed  a  flood  of  tears.  Paul,  pressing 
her  in  his  arms,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  my  dear 
mother !  since  I  have  no  relation  in  the 
world  but  you,  1  will  love  you  all  the  more. 
But  what  a  secret  have  you  just  disclosed 
to  me!  I  now  see  the  reason  w^hy  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Tour  has  estranged  herself  so 
much  from  me  for  the  last  two  months,  and 
why  she  has  determined  to  go  to  France. 
Ah !  I  perceive  too  well  that  she  despises 
me!" 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


135 


The  hour  of  supper  being  arrived,  we 
gathered  round  the  table ;  but  the  different 
sensations  with  which  we  were  agitated 
left  us  little  inclination  to  eat,  and  the  meal, 
if  such  it  may  be  called,  passed  in  silence. 
Virginia  was  the  first  to  rise ;  she  went  out, 
and  seated  herself  on  the  very  spot  where 
we  now  are.  Paul  hastened  after  her,  and 
sat  down  by  her  side.  Both  of  them,  for 
some  time,  kept  a  profound  silence.  It  was 
one  of  those  delicious  nights  which  are  so 
common  between  the  tropics,  and  to  the 
beauty  of  which  no  pencil  can  do  justice. 
The  moon  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  firm- 
ament, surrounded  by  a  curtain  of  clouds, 
which  was  gradually  unfolded  by  her  beams. 
Her  light  insensibly  spread  itself  over  the 
mountains  of  the  island,  and  their  distant 
])eaks  glistened  with  a  silvery  green.  The 
winds  were  perfectly  still.  We  heard  among 
the  woods,  at  the  bottom  of  the  valleys,  and 
on  the  summits  of  the  rocks,  the  piping  cries 
and  the  soft  notes  of  the  birds,  wantoning 
in  their  nests,  and  rejoicing  in  the  brightness 
of  the  night  and  the  serenity  of  the  atmos- 
phere. The  hum  of  insects  was  heard  in  the 
gj*i?s»    The  stars  sparkled  in  the  heavens, 


136  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

and  their  lucid  orbs  were  reflected,  in  trem- 
bling  sparkles  from  the  tranquil  bosom  of  the 
ocean.  Virginia's  eye  wandered  distractedly 
over  its  vast  and  gloomy  horizon,  distin- 
guishable from  the  shore  of  the  island  only 
by  the  red  fires  in  the  fishing  boats.  She 
perceived  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor  a 
light  and  a  shadow ;  these  were  the  Avatch- 
light  and  the  hull  of  the  vessel  in  which  she 
Vv^as  to  embark  for  Europe,  and  which,  all 
ready  for  sea,  lay  at  anchor,  waiting  for  a 
breeze.  Affected  at  this  sight,  she  turned 
away  her  head,  in  order  to  hide  her  tears 
from  Paul. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  Margaret,  and  I,  were 
seated  at  a  little  distance,  beneath  the  plan- 
tain trees ;  and,  owing  to  the  stillness  of  tlie 
night,  we  distinctly  heard  their  conversation, 
which  I  have  not  forgotten. 

Paul  said  to  her, — "  You  are  going  away 
from  us,  they  tell  me,  in  three  days.  You 
do  not  fear  then  to  encounter  the  danger  of 
the  sea,  at  the  sight  of  which  you  are  so 
much  terrified?"  "I  must  perform  my 
duty,"  answered  Virginia,  "  by  obeying  my 
parent."  "You  leave  us,"  resumed  Paul, 
for  a  distant  relation,  whom  you  have  never 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA,  iS7 

Been."  "  Alas  !  "  cried  Virginia,  I  would 
have  remained  here  my  whole  life,  but  my 
mother  would  not  have  it  so.  My  confessor^ 
too,  told  me  it  Avas  the  will  of  God  that  I 
should  go,  and  that  life  was  a  scene  of  trials ! 
— and  oh !  this  is  mdeed  a  severe  one." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Paul,  "  you  could 
find  so  many  reasons  for  going,  and  not 
one  for  remaining  here !  Ah  !  there  is  one 
reason  for  your  departure  that  you  have  not 
mentioned.  Riches  have  great  attractions. 
You  will  soon  find  in  the  new  world  to 
which  you  are  going,  another,  to  whom  you 
will  give  the  name  of  brother,  which  you 
bestow  on  me  no  more.  You  will  choose 
that  brother  from  amongst  persons  who  are 
worthy  of  you  by  their  l)irth,  and  by  a  for- 
tune which  I  have  not  to  offer.  But  where 
can  you  go  to  be  happier  ?  On  what  shore 
will  you  land,  and  find  it  dearer  to  you  than 
the  spot  which  gave  you  birth  ? — and  where 
will  you  form  around  you  a  society  more 
delightful  to  you  than  this,  by  which  you 
are  so  much  beloved  ?  How  will  you  bear 
to  live  without  your  mother's  caresses,  to 
which  you  are  so  much  accustomed  ?  What 
will  become  of  her,  already  advanced  in 


138  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


years,  when  she  no  longer  sees  you  at  her 
side  at  table,  in  the  house,  in  the  walks, 
where  she  used  to  lean  upon  you  ?  What 
will  become  of  my  mother,  who  loves  you 
with  the  same  affection?  What  shall  I  say 
to  comfort  them  when  I  see  them  -weeping 
for  your  absence?  Cruel  Virginia!  I  say 
nothing  to  you  of  myself;  but  what  will 
become  of  me,  when  in  the  morning  I  shall 
no  more  see  you ;  when  the  evening  will 
come,  and  not  reunite  us  ? — when  I  shall 
gaze  on  these  two  palm  trees,  planted  at  our 
birth,  and  so  long  the  vritnesses  of  our 
mutual  friendship  ?  Ah  !  since  your  lot  is 
changed, — since  you  seek  in  a  far  country 
other  possessions  than  the  fruits  of  my 
labor,  let  me  go  with  you  in  the  vessel  in 
which  you  are  about  to  embark.  I  will  sus- 
tain your  spirits  in  the  midst  of  those  tem- 
pests which  terrify  you  so  much  even  on 
shore.  I  will  lay  my  head  upon  your  bosom : 
I  will  warm  your  heart  upon  my  own  ;  and 
in  France,  where  you  are  going  in  search 
of  fortune  and  of  grandeur,  I  will  wait  upon 
you  as  your  slave.  Happy  only  in  your 
happiness,  you  will  find  me,  in  those  palaces 
where  I  shall  see  you  receiving  the  homage 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  139 


and  adoration  of  all,  rich  and  noble  enough 
to  make  you  the  greatest  of  all  sacrifices,  by 
dying  at  your  feet." 

The  violence  of  his  emotions  stopped  his 
utterance,  and  we  then  heard  Virginia,  who, 
in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs,  uttered  these 
words : — "  It  is  for  you  that  I  go, — for  you 
whom  I  see  tired  to  death  every  day  by 
the  labor  of  sustaining  two  helpless  families. 
If  I  have  accepted  this  opportunity  of  be- 
coming rich,  it  is  only  to  return  a  thousand- 
fold the  good  which  you  have  done  us. 
Can  any  fortune  be  equal  to  your  friendship  ? 
Why  do  you  talk  about  your  birth  ?  Ah  ! 
if  it  were  possible  for  me  still  to  have  a 
brother,  should  I  make  choice  of  any  other 
than  you?  Oh,  Paul,  Paul!  you  are  far 
dearer  to  me  than  a  brother!  How  much 
has  it  cost  me  to  repulse  you  from  me  ! 
Help  me  to  tear  myself  from  what  I  value 
more  than  existence,  till  Heaven  shall  bless 
our  union.  But  I  will  stay  or  go,— I  will 
live  or  die, — dispose  of  me  as  you  will.  Un- 
happy that  I  am !  I  could  have  repelled 
your  caresses ;  but  I  cannot  suppoit  your 
affliction." 

At  these  words  Paul  seized  her  in  his 


140  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA, 


arms,  and,  holding  her  pressed  close  to  his 
bosom,  said,  in  a  piercing  tone,  "  I  will  go  with 
her, — nothing  shall  ever  part  us."  We  all 
ran  towards  him ;  and  Madame  de  la  Tour 
said  to  him,  "  My  son,  if  you  go,  what  will 
become  of  us  !  " 

He,  trembling,  repeated  alter  her  the 
words, — "  My  son  ! — my  son  !  You  my 
mother !  "  cried  he  ;  "  you,  who  would  sepa- 
rate the  brother  from  the  sister!  We  have 
both  been  nourished  at  your  bosom ;  we  ha  ve 
both  been  reared  upon  your  knees  ;  we  ha  ve 
learnt  of  you  to  love  one  another  ;  we  have 
said  so  a  thousand  times  ;  and  now  you 
would  separate  her  from  me! — you  would 
send  her  to  Europe,  that  inhospitable  coun- 
try which  refused  you  an  asylum,  and  to 
relations  by  v/hom  yon  yourself  were  aban- 
doned. You  will  tell  me  that  I  have  no 
right  over  her,  and  that  she  is  not  nyr  sister. 
She  is  everything  to  me;  my  riches,  my 
birth,  my  family, — all  that  I  have !  I  know 
no  other.  We  have  had  but  one  roof, — 
one  cradle, — and  we  will  have  but  one 
grave!  If  she  goes,  I  will  follow  her. 
The  Governor  Avill  prevent  me  !  AYill  he 
prevent  me  from  flinging  myself  into  the 


PA  UL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


141 


sea? — will  he  prevent  me  from  following 
iier  by  swimming  ?  The  sea  cannot  be  more 
fatal  to  me  than  the  land.  Since  I  cannot 
live  with  her,  at  least  I  will  die  before  her 
eyes,  far  from  you.  Inhuman  mother  ! — > 
woman  without  compassion ! — may  the  ocean 
to  which  you  trust  her,  restore  her  to  you  no 
more!  May  the  waves,  rolling  back  our 
bodies  amid  the  shingles  of  this  beach,  give 
you,  in  the  loss  of  your  two  children,  an 
eternal  subject  of  remorse!  " 

At  these  words,  I  seized  him  in  my  arms, 
for  despair  had  deprived  him  of  reason.  His 
eyes  sparkled  with  fire,  the  perspiration  fell 
in  great  drops  from  his  face ;  his  knees 
trembled,  and  I  felt  his  heart  beat  violently 
against  his  burning  bosom. 

Virginia,  alarmed,  said  to  him, — "  Oh;  my 
dear  Paul,  I  call  to  witness  the  pleasures 
of  our  early  age,  your  griefs  and  my  own, 
and  everything  that  can  forever  bind  two 
unfortunate  beings  to  each  other,  that  if  I 
remain  at  home,  I  will  live  but  for  you; 
that  if  I  go,  I  will  one  day  return  to  be  yours. 
I  call  you  all  to  witness ; — you  who  have 
reared  me  from  my  infancy,  who  dispose  of 
my  life,  and  who  see  my  tears.   I  swear  by 


142  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


that  Heaven  which  hears  me,  by  the  sea 
which  I  am  going  to  pass,  by  the  air  I 
breathe,  and  whicli  I  never  sullied  by  a 
falsehood." 

As  the  sun  softens  and  precipitates  an  icy 
rock  from  the  summit  of  one  of  the  Apennines, 
so  the  impetuous  passions  of  the  young  man 
were  subdued  by  the  voice  of  her  he  loved. 
He  bent  his  head,  and  a  torrent  of  tears  fell 
from  his  eyes.  His  mother,  mingling  her 
tears  with  his,  held  him  in  her  arms,  but 
was  unable  to  speak.  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
half  distracted,  said  to  me,  "I  can  bear 
this  no  longer.  My  heart  is  quite  broken. 
This  unfortunate  voyage  shall  not  take  place. 
Do  take  my  son  home  with  you.  Not  one 
of  us  has  had  any  rest  the  whole  week." 

I  said  to  Paul,  "  My  dear  friend,  your  sister 
shall  remain  here.  To-morrow  w^e  will  talk 
to  the  Governor  about  it ;  leave  your  family 
to  take  some  rest,  and  come  and  pass  the 
night  with  me.  It  is  late;  it  is  midnight; 
the  southern  cross  is  just  above  the  hori- 
zon." 

He  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away  in 
silence  ;  and,  after  a  night  of  great  agitation, 
he  arose  at  break  of  day,  and  returned  home. 


PAUL  AXD  VIBGINIA.  143 

But  why  should  I  contmue  any  longer  to 
you  the  recital  of  this  history  ?  There  is  but 
one  aspect  of  human  existence  which  we 
can  ever  contemplate  with  pleasure.  Like 
the  globe  upon  which  we  revolve,  the  fleet- 
ing course  of  life  is  but  a  day  ;  and  if  one 
part  of  that  day  be  visited  by  light,  the 
other  is  thrown  into  darkness. 

"  My  father,"  I  answered,  "  finish,  I  con- 
jure you,  the  history  which  you  have  begun 
in  a  manner  so  interesting.  If  the  images 
of  happiness  are  the  most  pleasing,  those  of 
misfortune  are  the  more  instructive.  Tell 
me  what  became  of  the  unhappy  young 
man." 

The  first  object  beheld  by  Paul  in  his  way 
home  was  the  negro  woman  Mary,  who, 
mounted  on  a  rock,  was  earnestly  looking 
towards  the  sea.  As  soon  as  he  perceived 
her,  he  called  to  her  from  a  distance, — 
"  Where  is  Virginia  ?  "  Mary  turned  her 
head  towards  her  young  master,  and  began 
to  weep.  Paul,  distracted,  retracing  his 
steps,  ran  to  the  harbor.  He  was  informed 
that  Virgina  had  embarked  at  the  break 
of  day,  and  that  the  vessel  had  immediately 
set  sail,  and  was  now  out  of  sight.  He 


144  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


instantly  returned  to  the  plantation,  which 
he  crossed  without  uttering  a  word. 

Quite  perpendicular  as  ai^pears  the  walls 
of  rocks  behind  us,  those  green  platforms 
which  separate  their  summits  are  so  many 
stages,  by  means  of  which  you  may  reach, 
through  some  difficult  paths,  that  cone  of 
sloping  and  inaccessible  rocks,  which  is 
called  The  Thumb.  At  the  foot  of  that  cone 
is  an  extended  slope  of  ground,  covered  with 
lofty  trees,  and  so  steep  and  elevated  that  it 
looks  like  a  forest  in  the  air,  surrounded  by 
tremendous  precipices.  The  clouds,  which 
are  constantly  attracted  round  the  summit 
of  The  Thumb,  supply  innumerable  rivulets, 
which  fall  to  so  great  a  depth  in  the  valley 
situated  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain, 
that  from  this  elevated  point  the  sound  of 
their  cataracts  cannot  be  heard.  From  that 
spot  you  can  discern  a  considerable  part  of 
the  island,  diversified  by  precipices  and 
mountain  peaks,  and  amongst  others,  Peter* 
Booth,  and  the  Three  Breasts,  with  their 
valleys  full  of  woods.  You  also  command 
an  extensive  view  of  the  ocean,  and  can 
even  perceive  the  Isle  of  Bourbon,  forty 
leagues  to  the  westward.    From  the  summit 


PAUL  AXD  VIRGINIA. 


145 


of  that  stupendous  pile  of  rocks  Paul  caught 
sight  of  the  vessel  which  was  bearing  away 
Virginia,  and  which  now,  ten  leagues  out  at 
sea,  appeared  like  a  black  spot  in  the  midst 
of  the  ocean.  He  remained  a  great  part  of 
the  day  Avith  his  eyes  fixed  upon  this 
object:  when  it  had  disappeared,  he  still 
fancied  he  behekLit;  and  when,  at  length, 
the  traces  which  clung  to  his  imagination 
were  lost  in  the  mists  of  the  horizon,  he 
seated  himself  on  that  wild  point,  forever 
beaten  by  the  winds,  which  never  cease  to 
agitate  the  tops  of  the  cabbage  and  gum- 
trees,  and  the  hoarse  and  moaning  murmurs 
of  which,  similar  to  the  distant  sound  of 
organs,  inspire  a  profound  melancholy.  On 
this  spot  I  found  him,  his  head  reclining  on 
the  rock,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 
I  had  followed  him  from  the  earliest  dawn, 
and,  after  much  importunity,  I  prevailed 
on  him  to  descend  from  the  heights,  and 
return  to  his  family.  I  went  home  with 
him,  where  the  first  impulse  of  his  mind,  on 
seeing  Madame  de  la  Tour,  was  to  reproach 
her  bitterly  for  having  deceived  him.  She 
told  us  that  a  favorable  wind  having 
sprung  up  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  - 

lO 


116  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


and  the  vessel  being  ready  to  sail,  the 
<^overnor,  attended  by  some  of  his  stalf  and 
the  missionary,  had  come  with  a  palanquin 
to  fetch  her  daughter  ;  a^d  that,  notwith- 
standing Virginia's  objections,  her  own  tears 
and  entreaties,  and  the  lamentations  of  Mar- 
garet, everybody  exclaiming  all  the  time 
that  it  was  for  the  general  welfare,  they  had 
carried  her  away  almost  dying.  "  At  least," 
cried  Paul,  "  if  I  had  bid  her  farewell,  1 
should  now  be  more  calm.  I  would  have 
said  to  her, — '  Virginia,  if,  during  the  time 
we  have  lived  together,  one  word  may  have 
escaped  me  which  has  offended  you,  before 
yon  leave  me  forever,  tell  me  that  you  for- 
give me.'  I  would  have  said  to  her, — '  Since 
I  am  destined  to  see  you  no  more,  farewell, 
my  dear  Virginia,  farewell !  Live  far  from 
me  contented  and  happy ! ' "  When  he  saw 
that  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour 
were  weeping, — You  must  now,"  said  he, 
seek  some  other  hand  to  wipe  away  your 
tears  ;  "  and  then,  rushing  out  of  the  house, 
and  groaning  aloud,  he  wandered  up  an(? 
down  the  plantation.  He  hovered  in  par* 
ticular  about  those  spots  which  had  been 
most  endearing  to  Virginia.    He  said  to  the 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


147 


goats,  and  their  little  ones,  which  followed 
him  bleating, — "  What  do  you  want  of  me  ? 
You  will  see  with  me  no  more  her  who  used 
to  feed  you  with  her  own  hand."  He  went 
to  tlie  bower  called  Virginia's  Resting-place 
and,  as  the  birds  flew  around  him,  exclaimed, 
"  Poor  birds !  you  will  fly  no  more  to  meet 
her  who  cherished  you !  " — and  observing 
Fidele  running  backwards  and  forwards  in. 
searcli  of  her,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and 
cried, — "  Ah !  you  will  never  find  her  again.'* 
At  length  he  went  and  seated  himself  upon 
a  rock  where  he  had  conversed  with  her  the 
preceding  evening ;  and  at  the  sight  of  the 
ocean  upon  which  he  had  seen  the  vessel 
disappear  which  had  borne  her  away,  his 
heart  overflowed  with  anguish,  and  he  wept 
bitterly. 

We  continually  watched  his  movements, 
apprehensive  of  some  fatal  consequence 
from  the  violent  agitation  of  his  mind.  His^ 
mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  conjured  him, 
in  the  most  tender  manner,  not  to  increase 
their  aflBiction  by  his  despair.  At  length 
the  latter  soothed  his  mind  by  lavishing 
upon  him  epithets  calculated  to  awaken  his 
hopes, — calling  him  her  son,  her  dear  son. 


148 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


her  son-in-law,  whom  she  destined  for  her 
daughter.  She  persuaded  him  to  return 
home,  and  to  take  some  food.  He  seated 
himself  next  to  the  place  which  used  to  be 
occupied  by  the  companion  of  his  childhood ; 
and,  as  if  she  had  still  been  present,  he 
spoke  to  her,  and  made  as  though  he  Avould 
offer  her  whatever  he  knew  was  most 
agreeable  to  her  taste :  then,  starting  from 
this  dream  of  fancy,  he  began  to  weep. 
For  some  days  he  employed  himself  in 
gathering  every  thing  which  had  belonged 
to  Virginia,  the  last  nosegays  she  had  worn, 
the  cocoa-shell  from  which  she  used  to 
drink ;  and  after  kissing  a  thousand  times 
these  relics  of  his  beloved,  to  him  the  most 
precious  treasures  which  the  world  con- 
tained, he  hid  them  in  his  bosom.  Amber 
does  not  shed  so  sweet  a  perfume  as  the 
veriest  trifles  touched  by  those  we  love.  At 
length,  perceiving  that  the  indulgence  of 
his  grief  increased  that  of  his  miother  and 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  and  that  the  wants  of 
the  family  demanded  continual  labor,  he 
began,  with  the  assistance  of  Domingo,  to 
repair  the  damage  done  to  the  garden. 
But,  soon  after,  this  young  man,  hitherto 


PAUL  AND  VlBGiyiA, 


149 


indifferent  as  a  Creole  to  everything  that 
was  passing  in  the  world,  begged  of  me  to 
teach  him  to  read  and  write,  in  order  that 
he  might  correspond  with  Virginia.  He 
afterwards  wished  to  obtain  a  knowledge 
of  geography,  that  he  might  form  some  idea 
of  the  country  where  she  would  disembark ; 
and  of  history,  that  he  might  know  some- 
thing of  the  manners  of  the  society  in  which 
she  would  be  placed.  The  powerful  senti- 
ment of  love,  which  directed  his  present 
studies,  had  already  instructed  him  in 
agriculture,  and  in  the  art  of  laying  out 
grounds  with  advantage  and  beauty.  It 
must  be  admitted,  that  to  the  fond  dreams  of 
this  restless  and  ardent  passion,  mankind 
are  indebted  for  most  of  the  arts  and  sciences, 
while  its  disappointments  have  given  birth 
to  philosophy,  which  teaches  us  to  bear  up 
under  misfortune.  Love,  thus,  the  general 
link  of  all  beings,  becomes  the  great  spring 
of  society,  by  inciting  us  to  knowledge  as 
well  as  to  pleasure. 

Paul  found  little  satisfaction  in  the  study 
of  geography,  which,  instead  of  describing 
the  natural  history  of  each  country,  gave 
only  a  view  of  its  political  divisions  and 


150  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


boundaries.  History,  and  especially  modeii  i 
history,  interested  him  little  more.  Hi 
there  saw  only  general  and  periodical  eviL  i, 
the  causes  of  which  he  could  not  discover ; 
wars  without  either  motive  or  reason ; 
uninteresting  intrigues  ;  with  nations  deF* 
titute  of  principle,  and  princes  void  cf 
humanity.  To  this  branch  of  reading  h« 
preferred  romances,  which,  being  chiefly 
occupied  by  the  feelings  and  concerns  cE 
men,  sometimes  represented  situation  s 
similar  to  his  own.  Thus,  no  book  gave 
him  so  much  pleasure  as  Telemachus,  from 
the  pictures  it  draws  of  pastoral  life,  and  cf 
the  passions  which  are  most  natural  to  the 
human  breast.  He  read  aloud  to  his  mother 
and  Madame  de  la  Tour  thosQ  parts  which 
affected  him  most  sensibly ;  but  soraetime^J, 
touched  by  the  most  tender  remembrances^, 
his  emotion  would  choke  his  utterance,  airi 
his  eyes  be  filled  with  tears.  He  fancied  he 
had  found  in  Virginia  the  dignity  and  wisw. 
dom  of  Antiope,  united  to  the  misfortunes 
and  the  tenderness  of  Eucharis.  With  very 
different  sensations  he  perused  our  fash- 
ionable novels,  filled  with  licentious  morals 
and  maxims,  and  when  he  was  inform^jt? 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


151 


that  these  works  drew  a  tolerably  faithful 
picture  of  European  society,  he  trembled,  and 
r.ot  without  some  appearance  of  reason^ 
iest  Virginia  should  become  corrupted  by  it, 
and  forget  him. 

More  than  a  year  and  a  half,  indeed, 
passed  away  before  Madame  de  la  Tour 
received  any  tidings  of  her  aunt  or  her 
daughter.  During  that  period  she  only 
accidentally  heard  that  Virginia  had  safely 
arrived  in  France.  At  length,  however, 
a  vessel  which  stopped  here  in  its  way 
to  the  Indies  brought  a  packet  to  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  and  a  letter  written  by  Virginia's, 
own  hand.  Although  this  amiable  and 
considerate  girl  had  written  in  a  guarded 
manner  that  she  might  not  wound  her 
mother's  feelings,  it  appeared  evident 
enough  that  she  was  unhappy.  The  letter 
painted  so  naturally  her  situation  and  her 
character,  that  I  have  retained  it  almost 
word  for  word. 

"  My  dear  axd  beloved  Mother, 

I  have  already  sent  you  several  letters, 
written  by  my  own  hand,  but  having  re- 
ceived no  answer,  I  am  afraid  they  have  not 


152  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


reached  you.  I  have  better  hopes  for  this, 
from  the  means  I  have  now  gained  of  send- 
ing you  tidings  of  myself,  and  of  hearing 
from  you. 

"  I  have  slied  many  tears  since  our  separa- 
tion, I  wlio  never  used  to  weep,  but  for  the 
misfortunes  of  others !  My  aunt  was  much 
astonished,  when,  having,  upon  my  arrival, 
inquired  what  accomplishments  I  possessed, 
I  told  her  that  I  could  neither  read  nor  write. 
She  asked  me  what  then  I  had  learnt,  since 
I  came  into  the  Avorld  ;  and  when  I  answered 
that  I  had  been  taught  to  take  care  of  the 
household  affairs,  and  to  obey  your  will,  she 
told  me  that  I  had  received  the  education 
of  a  servant.  The  next  day  she  placed  me 
as  a  boarder  in  a  great  abbey  near  Paris, 
where  I  have  masters  of  all  kinds,  who  teach 
me  among  other  things,  history,  geography, 
grammar,  mathematics,  and  riding  on  horse- 
back. But  I  have  so  little  capacity  for  all 
these  sciences,  that  I  fear  I  shall  make  but 
small  progress  with  my  masters.  I  feel 
that  I  am  a  very  poor  creature,  with  very 
little  ability  to  learn  what  they  teach.  My 
aunt's  kindness,  however,  does  not  decrease. 
She  gives  me  new  dresses  every  season; 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


153 


and  she  has  placed  two  waitmg  women  with 
me,  who  are  dressed  like  fine  ladies.  She 
has  made  me  take  the  title  of  countess ;  but 
has  obliged  me  to  renounce  the  name  of  La 
Tour,  w^hich  is  as  dear  to  me  as  it  is  to  you, 
from  all  you  have  told  me  of  the  sufferings 
my  father  endured  in  order  to  marry  you. 
She  has  given  me  in  place  of  your  name 
that  of  your  family,  which  is  also  dear  to 
me,  because  it  was  your  name  when  a  girl. 
Seeing  myself  in  so  splendid  a  situation,  I 
implored  her  to  let  me  send  you  something 
to  assist  you.  But  how  shall  I  repeat  her 
answer !  Yet  you  have  desired  me  always 
to  tell  you  the  truth.  She  told  me  then 
that  a  little  would  be  of  no  use  to  you,  and 
that  a  great  deal  w^ould  only  encumber  you 
in  the  simple  life  you  led.  As  you  know  I 
could  not  write,  I  endeavored  upon  my 
arrival,  to  send  you  tidings  of  myself  by 
another  hand ;  but,  finding  no  person  here 
in  whom  I  could  place  confidence,  I  applied 
night  and  day  to  learn  to  read  and  write, 
and  Heaven,  "who  saw  my  motive  for  learn- 
ing, no  doubt  assisted  my  endeavors,  for  I 
succeeded  in  both  for  a  short  time.  I  en- 
trusted my  first  letters  to  some  of  the  ladies 


154  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


here,  who,  I  have  reason  to  think,  carried 
them  to  my  aunt.  This  time  I  have  re- 
course to  a  boarder,  who  is  my  friend.  I 
send  you  her  direction,  by  means  of  which 
I  shall  receive  your  answer.  My  aunt  has 
forbid  me  holding  any  correspondence  what- 
ever, with  any  one,  lest,  she  says,  it  should 
occasion  an  obstacle  to  the  great  views  she 
has  for  my  advantage.  Xo  person  is  allowed 
to  see  me  at  the  grate  but  herself,  and  an 
old  nobleman,  one  of  her  friends,  who,  she 
says,  is  much  pleased  with  me.  I  am  sure 
I  am  not  at  all  so  with  him,  nor  should  I, 
even  if  it  were  possible  for  me  to  be  pleased 
with  any  one  at  present. 

"I  live  in  all  the  splendor  of  affluence, 
and  have  not  a  sou  at  my  disposal.  They 
say  I  might  make  an  improper  use  of 
money.  Even  my  clothes  belong  to  my 
femmes  de  chambre,  who  quarrel  about 
them  before  I  have  left  them  off.  In  the 
midst  of  riches  I  am  poorer  than  when  I 
lived  with  you ;  for  I  have  nothing  to  give 
away.  When  I  found  that  the  great  accom- 
plishments they  taught  me  would  not  pro- 
cure me  the  power  of  doing  the  smallest 
good,  I  Yi^A  recourse  to  my  needle,  of  which 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


155 


happily  you  had  taught  me  the  use.  I  send 
several  pairs  of  stockings  of  my  own 
making  for  you  and  my  mamma  Margaret,  a 
cap  for  Dommgo,  and  one  of  my  red  hand- 
kerchiefs for  Mary.  I  also  send  with  this 
packet  some  kernels,  and  seeds  of  various 
kinds  of  fruits  which  I  gathered  in  the 
abbey  park  during  my  hours  of  recreation. 
*I  have  also  sent  a  few  seeds  of  violets, 
daisies,  buttercups,  poppies  and  scabious, 
which  I  picked  up  in  the  fields.  There  are 
much  more  beautiful  flowers  in  the  meadows 
of  this  country  than  in  ours,  but  nobody 
cares  for  them.  I  am  sure  that  you  and 
my  mamma  Margaret  will  be  better  pleased 
with  this  bag  of  seeds,  than  you  were  with 
the  bag  of  piastres,  which  was  the  cause  of 
our  separation  and  of  my  tears.  It  will  give 
me  great  delight  if  you  should  one  day  see 
apple-trees  growing  by  the  side  of  our  plan- 
tains, and  elms  blending  their  foliage  with 
that  of  our  cocoa  trees.  You  will  fancy 
yourself  in  Normandy,  which  you  love  so 
much. 

"You  desired  me  to  relate  to  you  my  joys 
and  my  griefs.  I  have  no  joys  far  from  you. 
As  for  my  ;]:rief s,  I  endeavor  to  soothe  them 


156  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


by  reflecting  that  I  a.m  in  the  situation  iu 
which  it  was  the  will  of  God  that  you 
should  place  me.  But  my  greatest  affliction 
is,  that  no  one  here  speaks  to  me  of  you, 
and  that  I  cannot  speak  of  you  to  any  one. 
My  femmes  de  chambre,  or  rather  those  of 
my  aunt,  for  they  belong  more  to  her  than 
to  me,  told  me  the  other  day,  when  I  wished 
to  turn  the  conversation  upon  the  objects 
most  dear  to  me :  '  Remember,  mademoi- 
selle, that  you  are  a  French  woman,  and 
must  forget  that  land  of  savages.'  Ah! 
sooner  will  I  forget  myself,  than  forget  the 
spot  on  Avhich  I  was  born  and  where  you 
dwell !  It  is  this  country  which  is  to  me  a 
land  of  savages,  for  I  live  alone,  having  no 
one  to  whom  I  can  impart  those  feelings  of 
tenderness  for  you  which  I  shall  bear  with 
me  to  the  grave.    I  am, 

"  My  dearest  and  beloved  mother, 

"Your  affectionate  and  dutiful  daughter, 
"  VmomiE  DE  La  Touk." 

recommend  to  your  goodness  Mary 
and  Domingo,  who  took  so  much  care  of 
my  infancy;  caress  Fidele  for  me,  w^ho 
found  me  in  the  wood." 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  157 


Paul  was  astonished  that  Virginia  had 
Jiot  said  one  word  of  him, — slie,  who  had 
not  forgotten  even  the  house-dog.  But  he 
was  not  aware  that,  however  long  a  woman's 
letter  may  be,  she  never  fails  to  leave  her 
dearest  sentiments  for  the  end. 

In  a  postscript,  Virginia  particularly  rec- 
ommended to  Paul's  attention  two  kinds  of 
seed, — those  of  the  violet  and  the  scabious. 
She  gave  him  some  instructions  upon  the 
natural  characters  of  these  flowers,  and  the 
spots  most  proper  for  their  cultivation. 
"The  violet,"  she  said,  "produces  a  little 
flower  of  a  dark  purple  color,  Avhich  delights 
to  conceal  itself  beneath  the  bushes ;  but  it 
is  soon  discovered  by  its  wide-spreading 
perfume."  Slie  desired  that  these  seeds 
might  be  sown  by  the  border  of  the  fount- 
ain, at  the  foot  of  her  cocoa-tree.  "  The 
scabious,"  she  added,  "  produces  a  beautiful 
flower  of  a  pale  blue,  and  a  black  ground 
spotted  with  white.  You  might  fancy  it 
was  irx  raourning ;  and  for  this  reason  it  is 
also  called  the  widow's  flower.  It  grows 
best  in  bleak  spots,  beaten  by  the  winds." 
She  begged  him  to  sow  this  upon  the  rock 
where  she  had  spoken  to  him  at  night  for 


158  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


the  last  time,  and  that,  in  remembrance  of 
her,  he  would  henceforth  give  it  the  name 
of  the  Rock  of  Adieus. 

She  had  put  these  seeds  into  a  little  purse^ 
the  tissue  of  which  was  exceedingly  simple; 
but  which  appeared  above  all  price  to  Paul, 
when  he  saw  on  it  a  P  and  a  V  entwined  to- 
gether, and  knew  that  the  beautiful  hair 
which  formed  the  cypher  was  the  hair  of 
Virginia. 

The  whole  family  listened  with  tears  to 
the  reading  of  the  letter  of  this  amiable  and 
virtuous  girl.  Her  mother  answered  it  in 
the  name  of  the  little  society,  desiring  her  to 
remain  or  return  as  she  thought  proper: 
and  assuring  her,  that  happiness  had  left 
their  dwelling  since  her  departure,  and  that, 
for  herself,  she  was  inconsolable. 

Paul  also  sent  her  a  very  long  letter,  in 
which  he  assured  her  that  he  would  arrange 
the  garden  in  a  manner  agreeable  to  her 
taste,  and  mingle  together  in  it  the  plants 
of  Europe  with  those  of  Africa,  as  she  had 
blended  their  initials  together  in  her  work. 
He  sent  her  some  fruit  from  the  cocoa-tre^s 
of  the  fountain,  now  arrived  at  maturity ; 
telling  her,  that  he  would  not  add  any  of 


PAUL  AND  VIEGiyiA.  159 


the  other  productions  of  the  island,  tliat  the 
desire  of  seeing  tliem  again  might  hasten 
her  return.  He  conjured  her  to  comply  as 
soon  as  possible  with  the  ardent  wishes  of 
her  family,  and  above  all,  with  his  own, 
since  he  could  never  hereafter  taste  happi- 
ness away  from  her. 

Paul  sowed  with  a  careful  hand  the  Euro- 
pean seeds,  particularly  the  violet  and  the 
scabious,  the  flowers  of  which  seemed  to 
bear  some  analogy  to  the  character  and  pres- 
ent situation  of  Virginia,  by  whom  they 
had  been  so  especially  recommended;  but 
either  they  were  dried  up  in  the  voyage,  or 
the  climate  of  this  part'of  the  world  is  un- 
favorable to  their  growth,  for  a  very  small 
number  of  them  even  came  up,  and  not  one 
arrived  at  full  perfection. 

In  the  mean  time,  envy,  which  ever  comes 
to  embitter  human  happiness,  particularly 
in  the  French  colonies,  spread  some  reports 
in  the  island  which  gave  Paul  much  uneasi- 
ness. The  passengers  in  the  vessel  which 
brought  Virginia's  letter,  asserted  that  she 
was  upon  the  point  of  being  married,  and 
named  the  nobleman  of  the  court  to  whom 
she  was  engaged.    Some  even  went  so  far 


160  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


as  to  declare  that  the  union  had  already 
taken  place,  and  that  they  themselves  had 
witnessed  the  ceremony.  Paul  at  first  de- 
spised the  report,  brought  by  a  merchant 
vessel,  as  he  knew  that  they  often  spread 
erroneous  intelligence  in  their  passage  ;  but 
some  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  island,  with 
malignant  pity,  affecting  to  bewail  the 
event,  he  was  soon  led  to  attach  some  degree 
of  belief  to  this  cruel  intelligence.  Besides, 
in  some  of  the  novels  he  had  lately  read,  he 
had  seen  that  perfidy  was  treated  as  a  sub- 
ject of  pleasantry ;  and  knowing  that  these 
books  contained  pretty  faithful  representa- 
tions of  European  manners,  he  feared  that 
the  heart  of  Virginia  was  corrupted,  and  had 
forgotten  its  former  engagements.  Thus 
his  new  acquirements  had  already  only 
served  to  render  him  more  miserable  ;  and 
his  apprehensions  were  much  increased  by 
the  circumstance,  that  though  several  ships 
touched  here  from  Europe,  within  the  six 
months  immediately  following  the  arrival 
of  her  letter,  not  one  of  them  brought  any 
tidings  of  Virginia. 

This  unfortunate  young  man,  with  a  heart 
torn  by  the  most  cruel  agitation,  often  came 


PAUL  AND  TIBGINIA.  IGl 

to  visit  me,  in  the  hope  of  confirmmg  or  ban- 
ishing his  uneasiness,  by  my  experience  of 
the  world. 

I  live,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  a  league 
and  a  half  from  this  point,  upon  the  banks 
of  a  little  river  which  glides  along  the  Slop- 
ing  Mountain  :  there  I  lead  a  solitary  life, 
without  wife,  children,  or  slaves. 

After  having  enjoyed,  and  lost  the  rare 
felicity  of  living  with  a  congenial  mind,  the 
state  of  life  which  appears  the  least  wretched 
is  doubtless  that  of  solitude.  Every  man 
who  has  much  cause  of  complaint  against 
his  fellow-creatures  seeks  to  be  alone.  It  is 
also  remarkable  that  all  those  nations  which 
have  been  brought  to  wretchedness  by  their 
opinions,  their  manners,  or  their  forms 
of  government,  have  produced  numerous 
classes  of  citizens  altogether  devoted  to  soli- 
,  tude  and  celibacy.  Such  were  the  Egyptians 
in  their  decline,  and  the  Greeks  of  the  Lower 
Empire  ;  and  such  in  our  days  are  the 
Indians,  the  Chinese,  the  modern  Greeks,  the 
Italians,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  eastern 
and  southern  nations  of  Europe.  Solitude, 
by  removing  men  from  the  miseries  which 
follow  in  the  train  of  social  intercourse, 


162  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


brings  them  in  some  degree  back  to  the  tin- 
sophisticated  enjoyment  of  nature.  In  the 
midst  of  modern  society,  broken  up  by  in- 
numerable prejudices,  tlie  mind  is  in  a 
constant  turmoil  of  agitation.  It  is  inces- 
santly revolving  in  itself  a  thousand  tumult- 
uous and  contradictory  opinions,  by  which 
the  members  of  an  ambitious  and  miserable 
circle  seek  to  raise  themselves  above  each 
other.  But  in  solitude  the  soul  lays  aside 
the  morbid  illusions  which  troubled  her,  and 
resumes  the  pure  consciousness  of  herself,  of 
nature,  and  of  its  Author,  as  the  muddy 
water  of  a  torrent  which  has  ravaged  the 
plains,  coming  to  rest,  and  diffusing  itself 
over  some  low  grounds  out  of  its  course, 
deposits  there  the  slime  it  has  taken  up,  and 
resuming  its  wonted  transparency,  reflects, 
with  its  own  shores,  the  verdure  of  the  earth 
and  the  light  of  heaven.  Thus  does  solitude 
recruit  the  powers  of  the  body  as  well  as 
those  of  the  mind.  It  is  among  hermits 
that  are  found  the  men  who  carry  human 
existence  to  its  extreme  limits  ;  such  are  the 
Bramins  of  India.  In  brief,  I  consider  soli- 
tude so  necessary  to  happiness,  eveil  in  the 
world  itself,  that  it  appears  to  me  impossi- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  163 


ble  to  derive  lasting  pleasure  from  any  pur- 
suit what-ever,  or  to  regulate  our  conduct  by 
any  stable  principle,  if  we  do  not  create  for 
ourselves  a  mental  void,  whence  our  own 
views  rarely  emerge,  and  into  which  the 
opinions  of  others  never  enter.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  man  ought  to  live  ab- 
solutely alone  ;  he  is  coimected  by  his  neces- 
sities with  all  mankind ;  his  labors  are  due 
to  man  :  and  he  owes  something  too  to  the 
rest  of  nature.  But,  as  God  has  given  to  each 
of  us  organs  perfectly  adapted  to  the  ele- 
ments of  the  globe  on  which  we  live, — feet 
for  the  soil,  lungs  for  the  air,  eyes  for  the 
light,  without  the  power  of  changing  the 
use  of  any  of  these  faculties,  he  has  reserved 
for  himself,  as  the  Author  of  life,  that  which 
is  its  chief  organ, — the  heart. 

I  thus  i)assed  my  days  far  from  mankind, 
whom  I  wished  to  serve,  and  by  whom  I 
have  been  persecuted.  After  having  trav- 
eled over  many  countries  of  Europe,  and 
some  parts  of  America  and  Africa,  I  at 
length  pitched  my  tent  in  this  thinly  peo- 
pled island,  allured  by  its  mild  climate  and 
its  solitudes.  A  cottage  which  I  built  in  the 
woods,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  a  little  field 


164  PAUL  AND  YIBGINIA. 


which  I  cleared  v/ith  my  own  hands,  a  river 
which  ghdes  before  my  door,  suffice  for  my 
wants  and  for  my  pleasures.  I  blend  with 
these  enjoyments  the  perusal  of  some  chosen 
books,  which  teach  me  to  become  better. 
They  make  that  world,  which  I  have  aban- 
doned,  still  contribute  something  to  my 
happiness.  They  lay  before  me  pictures  of 
those  passions  which  render  its  inhabitants 
so  miserable  ;  and  in  the  comparison  I  am 
thus  led  to  make  between  their  lot  and  my 
own,  I  feel  a  kind  of  negative  enjoyment. 
Like  a  man  saved  from  shipwreck,  and 
thrown  upon  a  rock,  I  contemplate,  from 
vyy  solitude,  the  storms  which  rage  through 
the  rest  of  the  world  ;  and  my  repose  seems 
more  profound  from  the  distant  sound  of 
the  tempest.  As  men  have  ceased  to  fall  in 
my  way,  I  no  longer  view  them  with  aver- 
sion ;  I  only  pity  them.  If  I  sometimes 
fall  in  with  an  unfortunate  being,  I  try  to 
help  him  by  my  counsels,  as  a  passer-by  on 
the  brink  of  a  torrent  extends  his  hand  to 
save  a  wretch  from  drowning.  But  I  have 
hardly  ever  found  but  the  innocent  atten- 
tive to  my  voice.  Nature  calls  the  majority 
men  to  her  in  vain.   Each  of  them  forma 


PAZTL  AND  VIRGINIA.  165 


an  image  of  her  for  himself,  and  invests  her 
with  his  own  ]3assions.  He  pursues  durmg 
the  whole  of  his  life  this  vain  phantom, which 
leads  him  astray  ;  and  he  afterwards  com- 
j)lains  to  Heaven  of  the  misfortunes  which 
he  has  thus  created  for  himself.  Among 
the  many  children  of  misfortune  whom  I 
have  endeavored  to  lead  back  to  the  enjoy- 
ments of  nature,  I  have  not  found  one  but 
was  intoxicated  with  his  own  miseries. 
They  have  listened  to  me  at  first  with  atten- 
tion,  in  the  hope  that  I  could  teach  tiiem 
how  to  acquire  glory  or  fortune,  but  when 
they  found  that  I  only  wished  to  instruct 
them  how  to  dispense  with  these  chimeras, 
their  attention  has  been  converted  into  pity, 
because  I  did  not  prize  their  miserable  hap- 
piness. They  blamed  my  solitary  life; 
they  alleged  that  they  alone  were  useful  to 
men,  and  they  endeavored  to  draw  me  into 
their  vortex.  But  if  I  communicate  with  all, 
I  lay  myself  open  to  none.  It  is  often  suffi- 
cient for  me  to  serve  as  a  lesson  to  myself. 
In  my  present  tranquillity,  I  pass  in  review 
the  agitating  pursuits  of  my  past  life,  to 
which  I  formerly  attached  so  much  value, — 
patronage,  fortune,  reputation,  pleasure,  and 


1G6  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


the  opinions  which  are  ever  at  strife  over  all 
the  earth.  I  compare  the  men  whom  I  have 
seen  disputing  furiously  over  these  van* 
ities,  and  who  are  no  more,  to  the  tiny  waves 
of  my  rivulet,  which  break  in  foam  against 
its  rocky  bed,  and  disappear,  never  to  return. 
As  for  me,  I  suffer  myself  to  float  calmly 
down  the  stream  of  time  to  the  shoreless 
ocean  of  futurity  ;  while,  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  present  harmony  of  nature,  I 
elevate  my  soul  towards  its  supreme  Author, 
and  hope  for  a  more  happy  lot  in  another 
state  of  existence. 

Although  you  cannot  descry  from  my 
hermitage,  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  forest, 
that  immense  variety  of  objects  which  this 
elevated  spot  presents,  the  grounds  are  dis- 
posed with  jDeculiar  beauty,  at  least  to  one 
who,  like  me,  prefers  the  seclusion  of  a 
home  scene  to  great  and  extensive  prospects. 
The  river  which  glides  before  my  door 
jjasses  in  a  straight  line  across  the  woods, 
looking  like  a  long  canal  shaded  by  all  kinds 
of  trees.  Among  them  are  the  gum  tree, 
the  ebony  tree,  and  that  which  is  here 
called  bois  de  pomme,  with  olive  and  cinna- 
mon-wood trees ;  while  in  some  parts  the 


PAUL  AND  VIBGJNIA.  167 


cabbage-palm  trees  raise  their  naked  stems 
more  than  a  hundred  feet  high,  their  sum- 
mits crowned  with  a  cluster  of  leaves,  and 
towering  above  the  woods  like  one  forest 
piled  upon  another.  Lianas,  of  various  foli- 
age, intertwining  themselves  among  the 
trees,  form,  here,  arcades  of  foliage,  there, 
long  canopies  of  verdure.  Most  of  these 
trees  shed  aromatic  odors  so  powerful,  that 
the  garments  of  a  traveler,  who  has  passed 
through  the  forest,  often  retain  for  hours 
the  most  delicious  fragrance.  In  the  season 
they  produce  their  lavish  blossoms, 
they  appear  as  if  half-covered  with  snow. 
Towards  the  end  of  summer,  various  kinds 
c*f  foreign  birds  hasten,  impelled  by  some 
inexplicable  instinct,  from  unknown  regions 
on  the  other  side  of  immense  oceans,  to  feed 
upon  the  grain  and  other  vegetable  produc- 
tions of  the  island;  and  the  brilliancy  of 
their  plumage  forms  a  striking  contrast  to 
the  more  somber  tints  of  the  foliage,  em- 
browned by  the  sun.  Among  these  are 
various  kinds  of  paroquets,  and  the  blue 
j)igeon,  called  here  the  pigeon  of  Holland. 
Monkeys,  the  domestic  inhabitants  of  our 
lorests,  sport  upon  the  dark  branches  of 


1 

168  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

the  trees,  from  which  they  are  easily  distin« 
guished  by  their  gray  and  greenish  skin, 
and  their  black  visages.  Some  hang,  sus- 
pended by  the  tail,  and  swing  themselves  in 
air;  others  leap  from  branch  to  branch, 
bearing  their  young  in  their  arms.  The 
murderous  gun  has  never  affrighted  these 
peaceful  children  of  nature.  You  hear 
nothing  but  sounds  of  joy, — the  warblings 
and  unknown  notes  of  birds  from  the  coun- 
tries of  the  south,  repeated  from  a  distance 
by  the  echoes  of  the  forest.  The  river, 
which  pours,  in  foaming  eddies,  over  a  bed 
of  rocks,  through  the  midst  of  the  woods, 
reflects  here  and  there  upon  its  limpid 
waters  their  venerable  masses  of  verdure 
and  of  shade,  along  with  the  sports  of  their 
happy  inhabitants.  About  a  thousand  paces 
from  thence  it  forms  several  cascades,  clear 
as  crystal  in  their  fall,  but  broken  at  the 
bottom  into  frothy  surges.  Innumerable 
confused  sounds  issue  from  these  watery 
tumults,  which,  borne  by  the  winds  across 
the  forest,  now  sink  in  distance,  now  all  at 
once  swell  out,  booming  on  the  ear  like  the 
bells  of  a  cathedral.  The  air,  kept  ever  in 
motion  by  the  running  water,  preserves 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  169 


apon  the  banks  of  tke  river,  amid  all  the 
summer  heats,  a  freshness  and  verdure 
rarely  found  in  this  island,  even  on  the 
summits  of  the  mountains. 

At  some  distance  from  this  place  is  a  rock, 
placed  far  enough  from  the  cascade  to  pre- 
vent the  ear  from  being  deafened  with  the 
noise  of  its  waters,  and  sufficiently  near  for 
the  enjoyment  of  seeing  it,  of  feeling  its 
coolness,  and  hearing  its  gentle  murmurs. 
Thither,  amidst  the  heats  of  summer, 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  Margaret,  Virginia, 
Paul  and  myself,  sometimes  repaired,  to 
dine  beneath  the  shadow  of  this  rock.  Vir- 
ginia, who  always,  in  her  most  ordinary 
actions,  v/as  mindful  of  the  good  of  others, 
never  ate  of  any  fruit  in  the  fields  without 
planting  the  seed  or  kernel  in  the  ground. 
"  From  this,"  said  she,  "  trees  will  come, 
which  will  yield  their  fruit  to  some  traveler, 
or  at  least  to  some  bird."  One  day,  having 
eaten  of  the  papaw  fruit  at  the  foot  of  that 
rock,  she  planted  the  seeds  on  the  spot. 
Soon  after,  several  papaw  trees  sprang  up, 
among  which  was  one  with  female  blossoms, 
that  is  to  say,  a  fruit-bearing  tree.  This 
tree  at  the  time  of  Virginia's  departure,  was 


170  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


scarcely  as  high  as  her  knee  ;  but,  as  it  is  a 
plant  of  rapid  growth,  in  the  cour^^e  of  two 
years  it  had  gained  the  height  of  twenty 
feet,  and  the  upper  part  of  its  stem  was 
encircled  by  several  rows  of  ripe  fruit. 
Paul,  wandering  accidentally  to  the  spot, 
was  struck  with  delight  at  seeing  this  lofty 
tree,  which  had  been  planted  by  his  beloved; 
but  the  emotion  was  transient,  and  instantly 
gave  place  to  a  deep  melancholy,  at  this 
evidence  of  her  long  absence.  The  objects 
which  are  habitually  before  us  do  not  bring 
to  our  minds  an  adequate  idea  of  the  rapidity 
of  life;  they  decline  insensibly  with  our- 
selves :  but  it  is  those  we  behold  again,  after 
having  for  some  years  lost  sight  of  them, 
that  most  powerfully  impress  us  with  a 
feeling  of  the  swiftness  with  which  the  tide 
of  life  flows  on.  Paul  w^as  no  less  over- 
whelmed and  affected  at  the  sight  of  this 
great  papaw  tree,  loaded  with  fruit,  than  is 
the  traveler  when,  after  a  long  absence  from 
his  own  country,  he  finds  liis  contemporaries 
no  more,  but  their  children,  whom  he  left 
at  the  breast,  themselves  now  become  fathers 
of  families.  Paul  sometimes  thought  of 
cutting  down  the  tree,  which  recalled  too 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  171 

sensibly  the  distracting  remembrance  of 
Virginia's  prolonged  absence.  At  other 
times,  contemplating  it  as  a  monument  of 
her  benevolence,  he  kissed  its  trunk,  and 
apostrophized  it  in  terms  of  the  most  pas- 
sionate regret.  Indeed,  I  have  myself  gazed 
upon  it  with  more  emotion  and  more  venera- 
tion than  upon  the  triumphal  arches  of 
Rome.  May  nature,  which  every  day  de- 
stroys the  monuments  of  kingly  ambition, 
multiply  in  our  forests  those  which  testify 
the  beneficence  of  a  poor  young  girl ! 

At  the  foot  of  this  papaw  tree  I  was 
always  sure  to  meet  with  Paul  when  he  came 
into  our  neighborhood.  One  day,  I  found 
him  there  absorbed  in  melancholy,  and  a 
conversation  took  place  between  us,  which 
I  will  relate  to  you,  if  I  do  not  weary  you  too 
much  by  my  long  digressions  ;  they  are  per- 
haps pardonable  to  my  age  and  to  my  last 
friendships.  I  will  relate  it  to  you  in  the 
form  of  a  dialogue,  that  you  may  form  some 
idea  of  the  natural  good  sense  of  this  young 
man.  You  will  easily  distinguish  the 
speaker,  from  the  character  of  his  questions 
and  of  my  answers. 

Paul. — I  am  very  unhappy.  Mademoiselle 


172 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


de  la  Tour  has  now  been  gone  two  years 
and  eight  months,  and  we  have  heard  no 
tidings  of  her  for  eight  months  and  a  half. 
She  is  rich,  and  I  am  poor ;  she  has  forgotten 
me.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  follow  her.  I 
will  go  to  France ;  I  will  serve  the  king ;  I 
will  make  my  fortune ;  and  then  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Tour's  aunt  will  bestow  her 
niece  upon  me  when  I  shall  have  become  a 
great  lord. 

The  Old  Jfan, — But,  my  dear  friend,  have 
not  you  told  me  that  you  are  not  of  noble 
birth? 

I^atd. — My  mother  has  told  me  so ;  but,  as 
for  myself,  I  know  not  what  noble  birth 
means.  I  never  perceived  that  I  had  less 
than  others,  or  that  others  had  more  than  I. 

T/ie  Old  3Ian. — Obscure  birth,  in  France, 
shuts  every  door  of  access  to  great  employ- 
ments ;  nor  can  you  even  be  received  among 
any  distinguished  body  of  men,  if  you  labor 
under  this  disadvantage. 

I^aid, — You  have  often  told  me  that  it  was 
one  source  of  the  greatness  of  France  that  her 
humblest  subject  might  attain  the  highest 
honors ;  and  you  have  cited  to  me  many 
instances  of  celebrated  men  who,  born  in  a 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


173 


mean  condition,  had  conferred  honor  upon 
their  country.  It  was  your  wish,  then,  by 
conceahng  the  trutli  to  stimulate  my  ardor  ? 

The  Old  Mail, — Never,  my  son,  would  I 
lower  it.  I  told  you  the  truth  with  regard 
to  the  past ;  but  now,  everything  has  under- 
gone a  great  change.  Everything  in  France 
is  now  to  be  obtained  by  interest  alone; 
every  place  and  employment  is'  now  become 
as  it  were  the  patrimony  of  a  small  number 
of  families,  or  is  divided  among  public 
bodies.  The  king  is  a  sun,  and  the  nobles 
and  great  corporate  bodies  surround  him 
like  so  many  clouds ;  it  is  almost  impossible 
for  any  of  his  rays  to  reach  you.  Formerly, 
under  less  exclusive  administrations  such 
I)henomena  have  been  seen.  Then  talents 
and  merit  showed  themselves  everywhere, 
as  newly  cleared  lands  are  always  loaded 
with  abundance.  But  great  kings,  who  can 
really  form  a  just  estimate  of  men,  and 
choose  them  with  judgment,  are  rare.  The 
ordinary  race  of  monarchs  allow  themselves 
to  be  guided  by  the  nobles  and  people  who 
surround  them. 

I^aul. — Bat  perhaps  I  shall  find  one  of 
these  nobles  to  prote^  'ne. 


174 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


The  Old  Man, — To  gain  the  protection  of 
the  great  you  must  lend  yourself  to  their 
ambition,  and  administer  to  their  pleasures. 
You  would  never  succeed ;  for,  in  addition  to 
your  obscure  birth,  you  have  too  mucH 
integrity. 

Paul, — But  I  will  perform  such  courageous 
actions,  I  will  be  so  faithful  to  my  word,  so 
exact  in  the  performance  of  my  duties,  so 
zealous  and  so  constant  in  my  friendships, 
that  I  will  render  myself  worthy  to  be 
adopted  by  some  one  of  them.  In  the  ancient 
histories,  you  have  made  me  read,  I  have 
seen  many  examples  of  such  adoptions. 

The  Old  Man, — Oh,  my  young  friend  ! 
among  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  even  in 
their  decline,  the  nobles  had  some  respect 
for  virtue;  but  out  of  all  the  immense  num- 
ber of  men,  sprung  from  the  mass  of  the 
people,  in  France,  who  have  signalized  them- 
selves in  every  possible  manner,  I  do  not 
recollect  a  single  instance  of  one  being 
adopted  by  any  great  family.  If  it  were  not 
for  our  kings,  virtue,  in  our  country,  would 
be  eternally  condemned  as  plebeian.  As  1 
said  before,  the  monarch  sometimes,  when 
he  x)erceives  it,  renders  to  it  due  honor ;  but 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.       '  175 

in  the  present  day,  the  distmctions  Tvhich 
should  be  bestowed  on  merit  are  generally 
to  be  obtamed  by  money  alone. 

Fend. — If  I  cannot  find  a  nobleman  to 
adopt  me,  I  will  seek  to  please  some  public 
body.  I  will  espouse  its  interests  and  its 
opinions :  I  will  make  myself  beloved  by  it. 

The  Old  Man. — You  will  act  then  like 
other  men? — you  will  renounce  your  con- 
science to  obtain  a  fortune  ? 

Paid. — Oh  no  !  I  will  never  lend  myself 
to  anything  but  the  truth. 

The  Old  Man. — Instead  of  making  your- 
self beloved,  you  would  become  an  object  of 
dislike.  Besides,  public  bodies  have  never 
taken  much  interest  in  the  discovery  of  truth. 
All  opinions  are  nearly  alike  to  ambitious 
men,  provided  only  that  they  themselves 
can  gain  their  ends. 

Paid. — How  unfortunate  I  am  !  Every- 
thing bars  my  progress.  I  am  condemned 
to  pass  my  life  in  ignoble  toil,  far  from 
Virginia. 

As  he  said  this  he  sighed  deeply. 

The  Old  Man. — Let  God  be  your  patron, 
and  mankind  the  public  body  you  would 
serve.    Be  constantly  attached  to  them  both. 


176 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Families,  corporations,  nations  and  kings 
have,  all  of  them,  their  prejudices  and  their 
passions ;  it  is  often  necessary  to  serve  them 
by  the  practice  of  vice :  God  and  mankind 
at  large  require  only  the  exercise  of  the 
virtues. 

But  why  do  you  wish  to  be  distinguished 
from  other  men  ?  It  is  hardly  a  natural 
sentiment,  for,  if  all  men  possessed  it,  every 
one  would  be  at  constant  strife  with  his 
neighbor.  Be  satisfied  with  fulfilling  your 
duty  in  the  station  in  which  Providence  has 
placed  you  ;  be  grateful  for  your  lot,  which 
permits  you  to  enjoy  the  blessing  of  a  quiet 
conscience,  and  which  does  not  compel  you, 
like  the  great,  to  let  your  happiness  rest  on 
the  opinion  of  the  little,  or,  like  the  little, 
to  cringe  to  the  great,  in  order  to  obtain  the 
means  of  existence.  You  are  now  placed  in 
a  country  and  a  condition  in  which  you  are 
not  reduced  to  deceive  or  flatter  anyone,  or 
debase  yourself,  as  the  greater  part  of  those 
who  seek  their  fortune  in  Europe  are  obliged 
to  do  ;  in  which  the  exercise  of  no  virtue  is 
forbidden  you ;  in  which  you  may  be,  with 
impunity,  good,  sincere,  well-informed,  pa- 
tient, temperate,  chaste,  indalgent  to  others' 


PAUL  AXD  VIRGINIA.  177 

fciults,  pious,  and  no  shaft  of  ridicule  be 
aimed  at  you  to  destroy  your  wisdom,  as 
yet  only  in  its  bud.  Heaven  has  given  you 
lil)erty,  health,  a  good  conscience,  and 
friends ;  kings  themselves,  whose  favor  you 
desire,  are  not  so  happy. 

Paul. — Ah !  I  only  want  to  have  Virginia 
with  me :  without  her  I  have  nothing, — with 
her,  I  should  possess  all  my  desire.  She 
alone  is  to  me  birth,  glory,  and  fortune. 
But,  smce  her  relation  will  only  give  her  to 
some  one  with  a  great  name,  I  will  study. 
By  the  aid  of  study  and  of  books,  learning 
and  celebrity  are  to  be  attained.  I  will  be- 
come a  man  of  science :  I  will  render  my 
knowledge  useful  to  the  service  of  my  coun- 
try, without  injuring  any  one,  or  owning 
dependence  on  any  one.  I  will  become  cele- 
brated, and  my  glory  shall  be  achieved  only 
by  myself. 

TJte  Old  Man. — My  son,  talents  are  a  gift 
yet  more  rare  than  either  birth  or  riches, 
and  undoubtedly  they  are  a  greater  good 
than  either,  since  they  can  never  be  taken 
away  from  us,  and  that  they  obtain  for  us 
everywhere  public  esteem.  But  they  may 
be  said  to  be  worth  all  that  they  cost  us. 
12  ^ 


178 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


They  are  seldom  acquired  but  by  every 
species  of  privation,  by  the  possession  of 
exquisite  sensibility,  which  often  produces 
inward  unhappiness,  and  which  exposes  us 
without  to  the  malice  and  persecutions  of 
our  contemporaries.  Tlie  lawyer  envies  not, 
in  France,  the  glory  of  the  soldier,  nor  does 
the  soldier  envy  that  of  the  naval  officer ; 
but  they  will  all  oppose  you,  and  bar  your 
progress  to  distinction,  because  your  assump- 
tion of  superior  ability  will  wound  the  self- 
love  of  them  all.  You  say  that  you  will  do 
good  to  men ;  but  recollect,  that  he  who 
makes  the  earth  produce  a  single  ear  of  corn 
more,  renders  them  a  greater  service  than 
he  who  writes  a  book. 

Paul. — Oh !  she,  then,  who  planted  this 
papaw  tree,  has  made  a  more  useful  and 
more  grateful  present  to  the  inhabitants  of 
these  forests  than  if  she  had  given  them  a 
whole  library. 

So  saying,  he  threw  his  arms  around  the 
tree,  and  kissed  it  with  transport. 

The  Old  Jian.— The  best  of  books,— that 
which  preaches  nothing  but  equality, 
brotherly  love,  charity,  and  peace, — the 
Gospel,  has  served  as  a  pretext,  during  many 


PAtTL  AND  VIBGINIA.  179 


centuries,  for  Europeans  to  let  loose  all  their 
fury.  How  many  tyrannies,  both  public 
and  private,  are  still  practiced  in  its  name  on 
the  face  of  the  earth !  After  this,  who  will 
dare  to  flatter  himself  that  anything  he  can 
write  mil  be  of  service  to  his  fellow-men  ? 
Remember  the  fate  of  most  of  the  philoso- 
phers who  have  preached  to  them  wisdom. 
Homer,  who  clothed  it  in  such  noble  verse, 
asked  for  alms  all  his  life.  Socrates,  whose 
conversation  and  example  gave  such  admi- 
rable lessons  to  the  Athenians,  was  sen- 
tenced by  them  to  be  poisoned.  His  sub- 
lime disciple,  Plato,  was  delivered  over  to 
slavery  by  the  order  of  the  very  prince  who 
protected  him;  and,  before  them,  Pythag- 
oras, whose  humanity  extended  even  to 
animals,  was  burned  alive  by  the  Crotoniates. 
What  do  I  say  ? — many  even  of  these  illus- 
trious names  have  descended  to  us  disfigured 
by  some  traits  of  satire  by  which  they  be- 
came characterized,  human  ingratitude  tak- 
ing pleasure  in  thus  recognizing  them ;  and 
if,  in  the  crowd,  the  glory  of  some  names  is 
come  down  to  us  without  spot  or  blemish, 
we  shall  find  that  they  who  have  borne 
them  have  lived  far  from  the  society  of  their 


180  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


contemporaries;  like  tliose  statues  which 
^re  found  entire  beneath  tlie  soil  in  Greece 
and  Italy,  and  wliich,  by  being  hidden  in 
the  bosom  of  the  earth,  have  escaped  unin- 
jured, from  the  fury  of  the  barbarians. 

You  see,  then,  that  to  acquire  the  glory 
which  a  turbulent  literary  career  can  give 
you,  you  must  not  only  be  virtuous,  but 
ready,  if  necessary,  to  sacrifice  life  itself. 
But,  after  all,  do  not  fancy  that  the  great  in 
France  trouble  themselves  about  such  glory 
as  this.  Little  do  they  care  for  literary 
men,  whose  knowledge  brings  them  neither 
honors,  nor  power,  nor  even  admission  at 
court.  Persecution,  it  is  true,  is  rarely 
practiced  in  this  age,  because  it  is  habitually 
indifferent  to  everything  except  wealth  and 
luxury ;  but  knowledge  and  virtue  no  longer 
lead  to  distinction,  since  everything  in  the 
state  is  to  be  purchased  with  money.  For- 
merly, men  of  letters  were  certain  of  reward 
by  some  place  in  the  church,  the  magistracy, 
or  the  administration ;  now  they  are  con- 
sidered good  for  nothing  but  to  write  books. 
But  this  fruit  of  their  minds,  little  valued 
by  the  world  at  large,  is  still  worthy  of  its 
celestial  origin.    For  these  books  is  reserved 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA, 


181 


the  privilege  of  shedding  luster  on  obscure 
virtue,  of  consoling  the  unhappy,  of  en- 
lightening nations,  and  of  tellhig  the  truth 
even  to  kings.  This  is,  unquestionably,  the 
most  august  commission  Avith  which  Heaven 
can  honor  a  mortal  upon  this  earth.  Where 
is  the  author  who  would  not  be  consoled  for 
the  injustice  or  contempt  of  those  who  are 
the  dispensers  of  the  ordinary  gifts  of  for- 
tune, when  he  reflects  that  his  work  may 
pass  from  age  to  age,  from  nation  to  nation, 
opposing  a  barrier  to  error  and  to  tyranny  : 
and  that,  from  amidst  the  obscurity  in  which 
he  has  lived,  there  will  shine  forth  a  glory 
which  will  elface  that  of  the  common  herd 
of  monarchs,  the  monuments  of  whose  deeds 
perish  in  oblivion,  notwithstanding  the  flat- 
terers who  erect  and  magnify  them  ? 

Paul. — Ah !  I  am  only  covetous  of  glory 
to  bestow  it  on  Virginia,  and  render  her 
dear  to  the  whole  world.  But  can  you,  who 
know  so  much,  tell  me  whether  we  shall 
ever  be  married  ?  I  should  like  to  be  a  very 
learned  man,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  knowing 
what  will  come  to  pass. 

The  Old  Man, — Who  would  live,  my  son^ 
if  the  future  were  revealed  to  him  ? — whea 


182  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA, 


a  single  anticipated  misfortune  gives  us  so 
much  useless  uneasiness — when  the  fore* 
knowledge  of  one  certain  calamity  is  enough 
to  embitter  every  day  that  precedes  it !  It 
is  better  not  to  pry  too  curiously,  even  into 
the  things  which  surround  us.  Heaven ^ 
which  has  given  us  the  power  of  reflection 
to  foresee  our  necessities,  gave  us  also  thosif 
very  necessities  to  set  limits  to  its  exercise. 

Paul. — You  tell  me  that  with  money  peo- 
ple in  Europe  acquire  dignities  and  honors. 
I  will  go,  then,  to  enrich  myself  in  Bengal, 
and  afterwards  proceed  to  Paris,  and  marry 
Virginia.    I  will  embark  at  once. 

The  Old  Man, — What!  would  you  leave 
lier  mother  and  yours  ? 

Paul. — Why,  you  yourself  have  advised 
my  going  to  the  Indies. 

The  Old  Man. — Virginia  was  then  here ; 
t)ut  you  are  now  the  only  means  of  support 
both  of  her  mother  and  of  your  own. 

Paid. — Virginia  will  assist  them  by  means" 
of  her  rich  relation. 

The  Old  3Ian. — The  rich  care  little  for 
those  from  whom  no  honor  is  reflected  upon 
themselves  in  the  world.  Many  of  them 
have  relations  much  more  to  be  pitied  than 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


188 


Madame  de  la  Tour,  who,  for  want  of  their 
assistance,  sacrifice  tlieir  liberty  for  bread, 
and  pass  their  lives  immured  within  the 
walls  of  a  convent. 

Paul. — Oh,  what  a  country  u  Europe  I 
V^irginia  must  come  back  here.  What  need 
has  she  of  a  rich  relation  ?  She  was  so  happy 
in  these  huts  ;  she  looked  so  beautiful  and  so 
T\^ell-dressed  with  a  red  handkerchief  or  a. 
f  flowers  around  her  head !  Return,  Vir- 
ginia !  leave  your  sumptuous  mansions  and 
your  grandeur,  and  come  back  to  these  rocks,. 
— to  the  shade  of  these  woods  and  of  our 
cocoa  trees.  Alas  !  you  are  perhaps  even 
now  unhappy ! — and  he  began  to  shed  tears. 
My  father, — continued  he, — hide  nothing 
f  ro)n  me ;  if  you  cannot  tell  me  whether  I 
sliall  marry  Virginia,  tell  me  at  least  if  she 
1(>V(3S  me  still,  surrounded  as  she  is  by  noble- 
raen  who  speak  to  the  king,  and  who  go  to 
see  her. 

The  Old  Man. — Oh,  my  dear  friend !  I 
•am  sure,  for  many  reasons,  that  she  loves 
you  ;  but  above  all,  because  she  is  virtuous. 
At  these  words  he  threw  hinii-ielf  on  my 
ne(ik  in  a  transport  of  joy. 

Paul. — But  do  you  think  that  the  women 


184 


PAUL  A]^B  VIBGINIA. 


of  Europe  are  false,  as  they  are  represented 
in  the  comedies  and  books  which  you  have 
lent  me  ? 

The  Old  Man, — Women  are  false  in  those 
countries  where  men  are  tyrants.  Violence 
always  engenders  a  disposition  to  deceive. 

Paul. — In  what  way  can  men  tyrannize 
over  women  ? 

The  Old  Man. — In  giving  them  in  marriage 
without  consulting  their  inclinations  ; — in 
nniting  a  young  girl  to  an  old  man  or  a 
woman  of  sensibility  to  a  frigid  and  indif- 
ferent husband. 

Paul. — Why  not  join  together  those  who 
are  suited  to  each  other, — the  young  to  the 
young,  and  lovers  to  those  they  love  ? 

The  Old  Man. — Because  few  young  men 
in  France  have  property  enough  to  support 
them  when  they  are  married,  and  cannot 
acquire  it  till  the  greater  part  of  their  life 
is  passed.  While  young,  they  seduce  the 
wives  of  others,  and  wdien  they  are  old,  they 
cannot  secure  the  affections  of  their  own. 
At  first,  they  themselves  are  deceivers :  and 
afterwards,  they  are  deceived  in  their  turn. 
This  is  one  of  the  reactions  of  that  eternal 
justice,  by  which  the  world  is  governed; 


PAUL  AXD  VIBGINIA. 


185 


an  excess  on  one  side  is  sure  to  be  balanced 
by  one  on  the  other.  Thus,  the  greater  part 
of  Europeans  pass  their  lives  in  this  twofold 
irregularity,  which  increases  everywhere 
in  the  same  proportion  that  wealth  is  accu- 
mulated in  the  hands  of  a  few  individuals. 
Society  is  like  a  garden,  where  shrubs  cannot 
grow  if  they  are  overshadowed  by  lofty  trees ; 
but  there  is  this  wide  difference  between 
them, — that  the  beauty  of  a  garden  may 
result  from  the  admixture  of  a  small  num. 
ber  of  forest  trees,  while  the  prosperity  of  a 
state  depends  on  the  multitude  and  equality 
of  its  citizens,  and  not  on  a  small  number  of 
very  rich  men. 

Paid. — But  where  is  the  necessity  of 
being  rich  in  order  to  marry  ? 

The  Old  Mem, — In  order  to  pass  through 
life  in  abundance,  without  being  obliged  to 
work. 

Paid. — But  why  not  work  ?  I  am  sure  I 
work  hard  enough. 

The  Old  Man. — In  Europe,  working  with 
your  hands  is  considered  a  degradation ;  it 
is  compared  to  the  labor  performed  by  a 
machine.  The  occupation  of  cultivating  the 
earth  is  the  most  despised  of  alL   Even  an 


186  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


artisan  is  held  in  more  estimation  than  a 
peasant. 

Paul, — What !  do  you  mean  to  say  that 
the  art  which  furnishes  food  for  mankind  is 
despised  in  Europe  ?  I  hardly  understand 
you. 

The  Old  Man, — Oh  !  it  is  impossible  for  a 
person  educated  according  to  nature  to  form 
an  idea  of  the  depraved  state  of  society. 
It  is  easy  to  form  a  precise  notion  of  order, 
but  not  of  disorder.  Beauty,  virtue,  hap- 
piness, have  all  their  defined  proportions  ^ 
deformity,  vice,  and  misery  have  none. 

Paul, — The  rich  then  are  always  very 
happy !  They  meet  with  no  obstacles  to 
the  fulfillment  of  their  wishes,  and  they  can 
lavish  happiness  on  those  whom  they 
love. 

.  The  Old  Man, — Far  from  it,  my  son ! 
They  are,  for  the  most  part  satiated  with 
pleasure,  for  this  very  reason, — that  it  costs 
them  no  trouble.  Have  you  never  your- 
self experienced  how  much  the  pleasure 
of  repose  is  increased  by  fatigue ;  that  of 
eating,  by  hunger ;  or  that  of  drinking,  by 
thirst?  The  pleasure  also  of  loving  and 
beiug    beloved   is  only  to  be  acquired 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  187 


by  innumerable  privations  and  sacrifices. 
Wealth,  by  anticipating  all  their  necessities, 
deprives  its  possessors  of  all  these  pleasures. 
To  this  ennui,  consequent  upon  satiety, 
may  also  be  added  the  pride  which  springs 
from  their  opulence,  and  which  is  wounded 
by  the  most  trifling  privation,  when  the 
greatest  enjoyments  have  ceased  to  charm. 
The  perfume  of  a  thousand  roses  gives 
pleasure  but  for  a  moment;  but  the  pain 
occasioned  by  a  single  thorn  endures  long 
after  the  infliction  of  the  wound.  A  single 
evil  in  the  midst  of  their  pleasures  is  to  the 
rich  like  a  thorn  among  flowers ;  to  the 
poor,  on  the  contrary,  one  pleasure  amidst 
all  their  troubles  is  a  flower  among  a  wilder- 
ness of  thorns;  they  have  a  most  lively 
enjoym.ent  of  it.  The  effect  of  everything 
is  increased  by  contrast ;  nature  has  bal- 
anced all  things.  Which  condition,  after 
all,  do  you  consider  preferable, — to  have 
scarcely  anything  to  hope,  and  everything 
to  fear,  or  to  have  everything  to  hope  and 
nothing  to  fear  ?  The  former  condition  is 
that  of  the  rich,  the  latter,  that  of  the  poor. 
But  either  of  these  extremes  is  with  diffi- 
culty supported  by  man,  whose  happiness 


188  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA, 


consists  in  a  middle  station  of  life,  in  union 
with  virtue. 

Paid. — What  do  you  understand  by 
virtue  ? 

21ie  Old  3Ian. — To  you,  my  son,  who 
support  your  family  by  your  labor,  it  need 
hardly  be  defined.  Virtue  consists  in  en- 
deavoring to  do  all  the  good  we  can  to 
others,  Avith  an  ultimate  intention  of  pleas- 
ing God  alone. 

Paid. — Oh !  how  virtuous,  then,  is  Vir- 
ginia! Virtue  led  her  to  seek  for  riches, 
that  she  might  practice  benevolence.  Virtue 
induced  her  to  quit  this  island,  and  virtue 
will  bring  her  back  to  it. 

The  idea  of  her  speedy  return  firing  the 
imagination  of  this  young  man,  all  his 
anxieties  suddenly  vanished.  Virginia,  he 
was  persuaded,  had  not  written,  because  she 
would  soon  arrive.  It  took  so  little  time  to 
come  from  Europe  with  a  fair  wind !  Then 
he  enumerated  the  vessels  which  had  made 
this  passage  of  four  thousand  five  hundred 
leagues  in  less  than  three  months  ;  and  per- 
haps the  vessel  in  which  Virginia  had  em- 
barked might  not  be  more  than  two.  Ship- 
builders were  now  so  ingenious,  and  sailors- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


189 


were  so  expert !  He  then  talked  to  me  of 
the  arrangements  he  intended  to  make  for 
her  reception,  of  tlie  new  house  he  would 
build  for  her,  and  of  the  pleasures  and  sur- 
prises which  he  would  contrive  for  her  every- 
day, when  she  was  his  wife.  His  wife !  The 
idea  filled  him  with  ecstasy.  "  At  least,  my 
dear  father,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  then  do  no 
more  work  than  you  please.  As  Virginia 
will  be  rich,  w^e  shall  have  plenty  of  negroes, 
and  they  shall  work  for  you.  You  shall 
always  live  with  us,  and  have  no  other  care 
than  to  amuse  yourself  and  be  happy ; 
and,  his  heart  throbbing  with  joy,  he  flew 
to  communicate  these  exquisite  anticipa- 
tions to  his  family. 

In  a  short  time,  however,  these  enchant- 
ing hopes  were  succeeded  by  the  most  cruel 
apprehensions.  It  is  always  the  effect  of 
violent  passions  to  throw  the  soul  into  op- 
posite extremes.  Paul  returned  the  next 
day  to  my  dwelling,  overwhelmed  with  mel» 
ancholy,  and  said  to  me, — "  I  hear  nothing 
from  Virginia.  Had  she  left  Europe  she 
would  have  written  me  word  of  her  depart* 
tire.  Ah !  the  reports  which  I  have  heard 
concerning  her  are  but  too  well  founded^ 


190  AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Her  aunt  has  married  her  to  some  great 
lord.  She,  like  others,  has  been  undone  by 
the  lov<^.  of  riches.  In  those  books  which 
paint  women  so  well,  virtue  is  treated  but 
as  a  subject  of  romance.  If  Virginia  had 
been  virtuous,  she  would  never  have  for- 
saken her  mother  and  me.  I  do  nothing 
but  think  of  her,  and  she  has  forgotten  me. 
I  am  wretched,  and  she  is  diverting  herself. 
The  thought  distracts  me;  I  cannot  bear 
myself !  Would  to  Heaven  that  war  were 
declared  in  India  !  I  would  go  there  and  die." 

"My  son,"  I  answered,  "that  courage 
which  prompts  us  on  to  court  death  is  but 
the  courage  of  a  moment,  and  is  often  ex- 
cited only  by  the  vain  applause  of  men,  or 
by  the  hope  of  posthumous  renown.  There 
is  another  description  of  courage,  rarer  and 
more  necessary,  which  enables  us  to  support, 
without  witness  and  without  applause,  the 
vexations  of  life;  this  virtue  is  patience. 
Relying  for  support,  not  upon  the  opinions 
of  others,  or  the  impulse  of  the  passions,  but 
upon  the  will  of  God,  patience  is  the  courage 
of  virtue." 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  he,  "  I  am  then  without  vir- 
tue !  Everything  overwhelms  me  and  drives 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


191 


me  to  despair." — "  Equal,  constant,  and 
invariable  virtue,"  I  replied,  "  belongs  not 
to  man.  In  the  midst  of  the  many  passions 
which  agitate  us,  our  reason  is  disordered 
and  obscure :  but  there  is  an  ever-burning 
lamp,  at  which  we  can  rekindle  its  flame ; 
and  that  is,  literature. 

"  Literature,  my  dear  son,  is  the  gift  of 
Heaven,  a  ray  of  that  wisdom  by  which  the 
universe  is  governed,  and  which  man,  in- 
spired by  a  celestial  intelligence,  has  drawn 
down  to  earth.  Like  the  rays  of  the  sun,  it 
enlightens  us,  it  rejoices  us,  it  warms  us  with 
a  heavenly  flame,  and  seems,  in  some  sort, 
like  the  element  of  flre,  to  bend  all  nature 
to  our  use.  By  its  means  we  are  enabled  to 
bring  around  us  all  things,  all  places,  all  men, 
and  all  times.  It  assists  us  to  regulate  our 
manners  and  our  life.  By  its  aid,  too,  our 
passions  are  calmed,  vice  is  suppressed,  and 
virtue  encouraged  by  the  memorable  exam- 
ples of  great  and  good  men  which  it  has 
handed  down  to  us,  and  whose  time-honored 
Images  it  ever  brings  before  our  eyes.  Liter- 
ature is  a  daughter  of  Heaven  who  has  de- 
scended upon  earth  to  soften  and  to  charm 
away  all  the  evils  of  the  human  race.  The 


192  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


greatest  Avriters  have  ever  appeared  in  the 
worst  times, — in  times  in  wliich  society  can 
hardly  be  held  together, — the  times  of  bar- 
barism and  every  species  of  depravity.  My 
son,  literature  has  consoled  an  infinite  num» 
ber  of  men  more  unhappy  than  yourself: 
Xenophon,  banished  from  his  country  after 
having  saved  to  her  ten  thousand  of  her 
sons ;  Scipio  Africanus,  wearied  to  death  by 
the  calumnies  of  the  Romans :  Lucullus, 
tormented  by  their  cabals  ;  and  Catinat,  by 
the  mgratitude  of  a  court.  The  Greeks, 
with  their  never-failing  ingenuity,  assigned 
to  each  of  the  Muses  a  portion  of  the  great 
circle  of  human  intelligence  for  her  especial 
superintendence ;  we  ought  in  the  same 
manner,  to  give  up  to  them  the  regulation 
of  our  passions,  to  bring  them  under  proper 
restraint.  Literature  in  this  imaginative 
guise,  would  thus  fulfill,  in  relation  to  the 
powers  of  the  soul,  the  same  functions  as 
the  Hours,  who  yoked  and  conducted  the 
chariot  of  the  Sun. 

"  Have  recourse  to  your  books,  then,  my 
son.  The  wise  men  who  have  written  before 
our  days  are  travelers  who  have  preceded 
us  in  the  paths  of  misfortune,  and  who 


PAUL  jlND  riBGIJSflA. 


193 


fltretch  out  a  friendly  hand  towards  u-s,  and 
invite  us  to  join  tbxeir  society,  when  we  are 
abandoned  by  everything  else.  A  good  book 
is  a  good  friend." 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Paul,  "  I  stood  in  no  need  of 
books  when  Virginia  was  here,  and  siie  had 
studied  as  little  as  myself ;  but  when  she 
looked  at  me,  and  called  me  her  friend,  I 
could  not  feel  unhappy." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  T,  "  there  is  no  friend 
so  agreeable  as  a  mistress  by  wiioin  we  aro 
beloved.  There  is,  moreover,  in  woman  a 
liveliness  and  gayety,  which  powerfully  tend 
to  dissipate  the  melancholy  feelings  of  a 
man;  her  presence  drives  away  tlio  dark 
phantoms  of  imagination  produced  by  over- 
reflection.  Upon  her  countenance  sit  soft 
attractions  and  tender  confidence.  Vv^hat 
joy  is  not  heightened  when  it  l  \  sliiired  by 
her?  What  brow  is  not  unbent  by  her 
smiles?  What  anger  can  resist  her  tears? 
Virginia  will  return  with  more  i)hi]osophy' 
than  you,  and  will  be  quite  surpnse.l  to  fmd 
the  garden  so  unfinished; — she  wlio  could 
think  of  its  embellishments  in  spite  ol  all  the 
persecutions  of  her  aunt,  and  when  far  from 
her  mother  and  from  you.'* 
13 


194 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


The  Idea  of  Virginia's  speedy  return 
reanimated  the  drooping  spirits  of  her  lover, 
and  he  resumed  his  rural  occupations,  happy 
amidst  his  toils,  in  the  reflection  that  they 
would  soon  find  a  termination  so  dear  to  the 
wishes  of  his  heart. 

One  morning,  at  break  of  day  (it  was  the 
24th  of  December,  1744),  Paul,  when  he 
arose,  perceived  a  white  flag  hoisted  upon 
the  Mountain  of  Discovery.  This  flag  ha 
knew  to  be  the  signal  of  a  vessel  descried  at 
sea.  He  instantly  flew  to  the  town  to  leara 
if  this  vessel  brought  any  tidings  of  Virginia, 
and  waited  there  till  the  return  of  the  pilot, 
who  was  gone,  according  to  custom,  to  board 
the  ship.  The  pilot  did  not  return  till  the 
evening,  when  he  brought  the  Governor  in- 
formation that  the  signaled  vessel  was  the 
Saint-Geran,  of  seven  hundred  tons  burden, 
and  commanded  by  a  captain  of  the  name 
of  Aubin ;  that  she  was  now  four  leagues 
out  at  sea,  but  would  probably  anchor  at 
Port  Louis  the  following  afternoon,  if  the 
wind  became  fair :  at  present  there  was  a 
calm.  The  pilot  then  handed  to  the  Governor 
a  number  of  letters  which  the  Saint-Geran 
had  brought  from  France,  among  which  wag 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


195 


one  addressed  to  Mddame  de  la  Tour,  in  the 
]  land  writing  of  Virginia.  Paul  seized  upon 
the  letter,  kissed  it  with  transport,  and  plac- 
ing it  in  his  bosom,  flew  to  the  plantation. 
Xo  sooner  did  he  perceive  from  a  distance 
the  family,  who  were  aw^aiting  his  return 
upon  the  Rock  of  Adieus,  than  he  waved  the 
letter  aloft  in  the  air,  without  being  able 
to  utter  a  word.  N^o  sooner  was  the  seal 
broken,  than  they  all  crowded  round  Madame 
de  la  Tour,  to  hear  the  letter  read.  Virginia 
informed  her  mother  that  she  had  experi- 
enced much  ill-usag^  from  her  aunt,  who, 
after  having  in  vain,  urged  her  to  a  mar- 
liage  against  her  inclination,  had  disin- 
herited her,  and  had  sent  her  back  at 
ii,  time  when  she  would  probably  reach 
the  Mauritius  during  the  hurricane  season. 
Jn  vain,  she  added,  had  she  endeavored  to 
ftoften  her  aunt,  by  representing  what  she 
owed  to  her  mother,  and  to  her  early  habits  ; 
^.he  was  treated  as  a  romantic  girl,  w^hose 
head  had  been  turned  by  novels.  She  could, 
now  only  think  of  the  joy  of  again  seeing 
and  embracing  her  beloved  family,  and  would 
have  gratified  her  ardent  desire  at  once,  by 
landiijg  in  the  pilot's  boat,  if  the  captain  had 


196 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


allowed  her :  but  that  he  had  objected,  on 
ac(30unt  of  the  distance,  and  of  a  heavy  swell, 
which,  notwithstanding  the  calm,  reigned  in 
the  open  sea. 

As  soon  as  tlie  letter  was  finished,  the 
whole  of  the  family,  transported  with  joy, 
repeatedly  exclaimed,  "  Virginia  is  arrived ! " 
and  mistresses  and  servants  embraced  each 
other.  Madame  de  la  Tour  said  to  Paul, — 
*'My  son,  go  and  inform  our  neighbor  of 
Virginia's  arrival."  Domingo  immediately 
lighted  a  torch  of  bois  de  ronde,  and  he  and 
Paul  bent  tlieir  way  towards  my  dwell- 
ing. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  I 
was  just  going  to  extinguish  my  lamp,  and 
retire  to  rest,  when  I  perceived,  through  tlie 
palisades  round  my  cottage,  a  light  in  the 
woods.  Soon  after,  I  heard  the  voice  of  Paul 
calling  me.  I  instantly  arose,  and  had  hardly 
dressed  myself,  when  Paul,  almost  beside 
himself,  and  panting  for  breath,  sprang  on 
my  neck,  crying, — "  Come  along,  come  along. 
Virginia  is  arrived.  Let  us  go  to  the 
port ;  the  vessel  will  anchor  at  break  of 
day." 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words,  when 


PArL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


197 


we  set  off.  As  we  were  passing  through 
the  woods  of  the  Sloping  Mountain,  and 
were  already  on  the  road  which  leads  from 
the  Shaddock  Grove  to  the  port,  I  heard 
some  one  walking  behind  us.  It  proved  to 
be  a  negro,  and  he  was  advancing  with  hasty 
steps.  When  he  had  reached  us,  I  asked 
him  whence  he  came,  and  whither  he  was 
going  with  such  expedition.  He  answered, 
"  I  come  from  that  part  of  the  island  called 
Golden  Dust ;  and  am  sent  to  the  port,  to 
inform  the  Governor  that  a  ship  from  France 
has  anchored  under  the  Isle  of  Amber.  She 
is  firing  guns  of  distress,  for  the  sea  is  very 
rough."  Having  said  this,  the  man  left  us, 
and  pursued  his  journey  without  any  further 
delay. 

I  then  said  to  Paul, — Let  us  go  towards 
the  quarter  of  the  Golden  Dust,  and  meet 
Virginia  there.  It  is  not  more  than  three 
leagues  from  hence."  We  accordingly  bent 
our  course  towards  the  northern  part  of  the 
island.  The  heat  was  suffocating.  The 
moon  had  risen,  and  was  surrounded  by 
three  large  black  circles.  A  frightful  dark- 
ness shrouded  the  sky ;  but  the  frequent 
flashes  of  lightning  discovered  to  us  long 


198 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


rows  of  thick  and  gloomy  clouds,  hanging 
very  low,  and  heaped  together  over  the 
center  of  the  island,  being  driven  in  vi^ith 
great  rapidity  from  the  ocean,  although  not 
a  breath  of  air  was  perceptible  upon  the 
land.  As  we  walked  along,  we  thought  we 
heard  peals  of  thunder;  but,  on  listening 
more  attentively,  we  perceived  that  it  was 
the  sound  of  cannon  at  a  distance,  repeated 
by  the  echoes.  These  ominous  sounds, 
joined  to  the  tempestuous  asj)ect  of  the 
heavens,  made  me  shudder.  I  had  little 
doubt  of  their  being  signals  of  distress  from 
a  ship  in  danger.  In  about  half  an  hour  the 
firing  ceased,  and  I  found  the  silence  still 
more  appalling  than  the  dismal  sounds 
which  had  preceded  it. 

We  hastened  on  without  uttering  a  word, 
or  daring  to  communicate  to  each  other  our 
mutual  apprehensions.  At  midnight,  by 
great  exertion,  we  arrived  at  the  sea-shore, 
in  that  part  of  the  island  called  Golden 
Dust.  The  billows  were  breaking  against 
the  beach  with  a  horrible  noise,  covering 
the  rocks  and  the  strand  with  foam  of  a 
dazzling  whiteness,  blended  with  sparks  of 
fire.   By  these  phosphoric  gleams  we  distin* 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA.  199 


gtdshed,  notwithstanding  the  darkness,  a 
number  of  fishing  canoes,  drawn  up  high 
upon  the  beach. 

At  the  entrance  of  a  wood,  a  short  dis- 
tance from  us,  we  saw  a  fire,  round  wliich 
a  party  of  the  inhabitants  were  assembled* 
We  repaired  thither,  in  order  to  rest  our* 
selves  till  the  morning.  While  we  were? 
seated  near  this  fire,  one  of  the  standers-by 
rented,  that  late  in  the  afternoon  he  had 
seen  a  vessel  in  the  open  sea,  driven  towards 
the  island  by  the  currents ;  that  the  night 
had  hidden  it  from  his  view ;  and  that  two 
hours  after  sunset  he  had  heard  the  firing 
of  signal  guns  of  distress,  but  that  the  surf 
was  so  high,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
launch  a  boat  to  go  off  to  her ;  that  a  short 
time  after,  he  thought  he  perceived  the 
glimmering  of  the  watch-lights  on  board  the 
vessel,  which,  he  feared,  by  its  having  ap- 
proached so  near  the  coast,  had  steered  be- 
tween the  main  land  and  the  little  island  of 
Amber,  mistaking  the  latter  for  the  Point 
of  Endeavor,  near  which  vessels  pass  in 
order  to  gain  Port  Louis ;  and  that,  if  this 
were  the  case,  which,  however,  he  would 
not  take  upon  himself  to  be  certain  of,  tho 


200 


PAITL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


ship,  he  thought,  was  in  very  great  danger. 
Another  islander  then  informed  us,  that  he 
had  frequently  crossed  the  channel  which 
separates  the  isle  of  Amber  from  the  coast, 
and  had  sounded  it;  that  the  anchorage 
was  very  good,  and  that  the  ship  would 
there  lie  as  safely  as  in  the  best  harbor.  "  I 
would  stake  all  I  am  worth  upon  it,"  said 
he,  "  and  if  I  were  on  board,  I  should  sleep 
as  sound  as  on  shore."  A  third  bystander 
declared  that  it  was  impossible  for  the  ship 
to  enter  that  channel,  which  was  scarcely 
navigable  for  a  boat.  He  was  certain,  he 
said,  that  he  had  seen  the  vessel  at  anchor 
beyond  the  isle  of  Amber;  so  that,  if  the 
wind  arose  in  the  morning,  she  could  either 
put  to  sea,  or  gain  the  harbor.  Other  in- 
habitants  gave  different  opinions  upon  this 
subject,  which  they  continued  to  discuss  in 
the  usual  desultory  manner  of  the  indolent 
Creoles.  Paul  and  I  observed  a  profound 
silence.  We  remained  on  this  spot  till 
break  of  day,  but  the  weather  was  too  hazy 
to  admit  of  our  distinguishing  any  object  at 
sea,  everything  being  covered  with  fog.  All 
we  could  descry  to  seaward  was  a  dark 
cloud,  which  they  told  us  was  the  isle  of 


PAUL  AXD  VIBGINIA. 


201 


Amber,  at  the  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a 
league  from  the  coast.  On  this  gloomy  day 
we  could  only  discern  the  point  of  land  on 
which  we  were  standing,  and  the  peaks  of 
some  inland  mountains,  which  started  out 
occasionally  from  the  midst  of  the  clouds 
that  hung  around  them. 

At  about  seven  in  the  morning  we  heard 
the  sound  of  drums  in  the  woods :  it  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  the  Governor,  Mon- 
sieur de  la  Bourdonnais,  who  soon  after 
arrived  on  horseback,  at  the  head  of  a  de- 
tachment of  soldiers  armed  with  muskets, 
and  a  crowd  of  islanders  and  negroes.  He 
drew  up  his  soldiers  upon  the  beach,  and 
ordered  them  to  make  a  general  discharge. 
This  was  no  sooner  done,  than  we  perceived 
a  glimmering  light  upon  the  water  which 
was  instantly  followed  by  the  report  of  a 
cannon.  We  judged  that  the  ship  was  at 
no  great  distance  and  all  ran  towards  that 
part  whence  the  light  and  sound  proceeded. 
We  now  discerned  through  the  fog  the  hull 
and  yards  of  a  large  vessel.  We  were  so 
near  to  her,  that  notwithstanding  the  tumult 
of  the  waves,  we  could  distinctly  hear  the 
whistle  of  the  boatswain,  and  the  shouts  of 


2G2  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


the  sailors,  who  cried  out  three  times,  Vive. 
LE  Roi !  this  being  the  cry  of  the  French  in. 
extreme  danger,  as  well  as  in  exuberant 
joy ; — as  though  they  wished  to  call  their 
prince  to  their  aid,  or  to  testify  to  him  that 
they  are  prepared  to  lay  down  their  lives  in 
his  service. 

As  soon  as  the  Saint-Geran  jDcrceived  that 
we  were  near  enough  to  render  her  assist- 
ance, she  continued  to  fire  guns  regularly  at 
intervals  of  three  minutes.  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  caused  great  fires  to  be  lighted 
at  certain  distances  upon  the  strand,  and 
sent  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, in  search  of  provisions,  planks,  cables, 
and  empty  barrels.  A  number  of  people 
soon  arrived,  accompanied  by  their  negroes 
loaded  with  provisions  and  cordage,  which 
they  had  brought  from  the  plantations  of 
Golden  Dust,  from  the  district  of  La  Flaque, 
and  from  the  river  of  the  Rampart.  One  of 
the  most  aged  of  these  planters,  approach- 
ing the  Governor,  said  to  him, — "  AVe  have 
heard  all  night  hollow  noises  in  the  mount- 
ain ;  in  the  woods,  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
are  shaken,  although  there  is  no  wind  ;  the 
sea-birds  seek  refuge  upon  the  land  :  it  is 


y'AUL  AXD  VIBGINIA. 


203 


ooi'tdin  that  all  these  signs  announce  a  liurri- 
canG." 

Well,  my  friends,"  answered  the  Gover- 
r^or, we  are  prepared  for  it,  and  no  doubt 
the  vessel  is  also." 

Everything,  indeed,  presaged  the  near 
?ipproach  of  the  hurricane.  The  center  of 
tJie  clouds  in  the  zenith  was  of  a  dismal 
black,  while  their  skirts  were  tinged  with  a 
copper-colored  hue.  The  air  resounded  with 
the  cries  of  the  tropic-birds,  petrels,  frigate- 
birds,  and  innumerable  other  sea- fowl,  which 
notwithstanding  the  obscurity  of  the  atmos- 
phere, were  seen  coming  from  every  point 
of  the  horizon,  to  seek  for  shelter  in  the 
island. 

Towards  nine  in  the  morning  we  heard  in 
the  direction  of  the  ocean  the  most  terrific 
noise,  like  the  sound  of  thunder  mingled  with 
that  of  torrents  rushing  down  the  steeps  of 
lofty  mountains.  A  general  cry  Avas  heard 
of,  "  There  is  the  hurricane  ! "  and  the  next 
moment  a  frightful  gust  of  wind  dispelled 
the  fog  which  covered  the  isle  of  Amber  and 
its  channel.  The  Saint-Geran  then  , pre- 
sented herself  to  our  view,  her  deck  crowded 
with  people,  her  yards  and  topmasts  lowered 


204  PAUL  AND  VIHGINIA. 


down,  and  her  flag  half-mast  high,  moored 
by  four  cables  at  her  bow  and  one  at  her 
stern.  She  had  anchored  between  the  isle 
of  Amber  and  the  mainland,  inside  the  chain 
of  reefs  which  encircles  the  island,  and  which 
she  had  passed  through  in  a  place  where 
no  vessel  had  ever  passed  before.  She  pre- 
sented her  head  to  the  waves  that  rolled  in 
from  the  open  sea,  and^as  each  billow  rushed 
into  the  narrow  strait  where  she  lay,  her  bow 
lifted  to  such  a  degree  as  to  show  her  keel ; 
and  at  the  same  moment  her  stern,  plunging 
into  the  water,  disappeared  altogether  from 
our  sight,  as  if  it  were  swallowed  up  by  the 
surges.  In  this  position,  driven  by  the 
winds  and  waves  towards  the  shore,  it  was 
equally  impossible  for  her  to  return  by  the 
passage  through  which  she  had  made  her 
way  ;  or,  by  cutting  her  cables,  to  strand 
herself  upon  the  beach,  from  which  she  was 
separated  by  sandbanks  and  reefs  of  rocks. 
Every  billow  which  broke  upon  the  coast 
advanced  roaring  to  the  bottom  of  the  bay, 
throwing  up  heaps  of  shingle  to  the  distance 
of  fifty  feet  upon  the  land;  then,  rushing 
back,  laid  bare  its  sandy  bed,  from  which 
it  rolled  immense  stones,  with  a  hoarse  and 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


205 


dismal  noise.  The  sea,  swelled  by  the  vio- 
lence of  the  wind,  rose  higher  every  moment ; 
and  the  whole  channel  between  this  island 
and  the  isle  of  Amber  was  soon  one  vast 
sheet  of  white  foam,  full  of  yawning  pits  of 
black  and  deep  billows.  Heaps  of  this  foam, 
more  than  six  feet  high,  were  piled  up  at 
the  bottom  of  the  bay ;  and  the  winds  which 
swept  its  surface  carried  masses  of  it  over 
the  steep  sea-bank,  scattering  it  upon  the 
land  to  the  distance  of  half  a  league. 
These  innumerable  white  flakes,  driven 
horizontally  even  to  the  very  foot  of  the 
mountains,  looked  like  snow  issuing  from 
the  bosom  of  the  ocean.  The  appearance  of 
the  horizon  portended  a  lasting  tempest; 
the  sky  and  the  water  seemed  blended  to- 
gether. Thick  masses  of  clouds,  of  a  fright- 
ful form,  swept  across  the  zenith  with  the 
swiftness  of  birds,  while  others  appeared 
motionless  as  rocks.  Not  a  single  spot  of 
blue  sky  could  be  discerned  in  the  whole 
firmament  ;  and  a  pale  yellow  gleam  only 
lightened  up  all  the  objects  of  the  earth,  the 
sea,  and  the  skies. 

From  the  violent  rolling  of  the  ship,  what 
we  all  dreaded  happened  at  last.    The  cables 


£06 


PAUL  AND  VinoiNIA. 


which  held  her  bow  were  torn  giWixy  :  she 
then  swung  to  a  single  hawser,  and  was  in- 
stantly dashed  upon  the  rocks,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  half  a  cable's  length  from  the  shore. 
A  general  cry  of  horror  issued  from  the  spec- 
tators. Paul  rushed  forward  to  throw  him- 
self  into  the  sea,  when,  seizing  him  by  the 
arm,  "My  son,"  I  exclaimed,  "would  you 
perish  ? "  "  Let  me  go  to  save  her,"  he 
cried,  "  or  let  me  die !  "  Seeing  that  de- 
spair had  deprived  him  of  reason,  Domingo 
and  I,  in  order  to  preserve  him,  fastened  a 
long  cord  around  his  waist,  and  held  it  fast 
by  the  end.  Paul  then  precipitated  him- 
self towards  the  Saint-Geran,  now  swim- 
ming, and  now  walking  upon  the  rocks. 
Sometim,es  he  had  hopes  of  reaching  the 
vessel,  which  the  sea,  by  the  reflux  of  its 
waves,  had  left  almost  dry,  so  that  you 
could  have  walked  round  it  on  foot  ;  but 
suddenly  the  billows,  returning  with  fresh 
fury,  shrouded  it  beneath  mountains  of 
water,  which  then  lifted  it  upright  upon  its 
keel.  The  breakers  at  the  same  moment 
threw  the  unfortunate  Paul  far  upon  the 
beach,  his  legs  bathed  in  blood,  his  bosom 
wounded,    and   himself  half  dead.  The 


PAUL  AXJD  VIBGINIA. 


207 


moment  he  had  recovered  the  use  of  his 
senses,  he  arose,  and  returned  with  new 
ardor  towards  tlie  vessel,  the  parts  of  wliich 
now  yawned  asunder  from  the  violent 
strokes  of  the  billows.  The  crew  then,  de- 
pairing  of  their  safety,  threw  themselves  in 
crowds  into  the  sea,  upon  yards,  planks,  hen- 
coops, tables,  and  barrels.  At  this  moment 
we  beheld  an  object  which  wrung  our  hearts 
with  grief  and  pity  ;  a  young  lady  appeared 
in  the  stern-gallery  of  the  Saint-Geran, 
stretching  out  her  arms  towards  him  who 
was  making  so  many  efforts>to  join  her.  It 
was  Virginia.  She  had  discovered  her  lover 
by  his  intrej^idity.  The  sight  of  this  ami- 
able girl,  exposed  to  such  horrible  danger, 
filled  us  with  unutterable  despair.  As  for 
Virginia,  with  a  firm  and  dignified  mien, 
she  waved  her  hand,  as  if  bidding  us  an 
eternal  farewell.  All  the  sailors  had  flung 
themselves  into  the  sea,  except  one,  who 
still  remained  upon  the  deck,  and  who  was 
naked  and  strong  as  Hercules.  This  man 
approached  Virginia  with  respect,  and, 
kneeling  at  her  feet  attempted  to  force  her  to 
throw  off  her  clothes  ;  but  she  repulsed  him 
with  modesty,  and  turned  away  her  head. 


208 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Then  were  heard  redoubled  cries  from  the 
spectators,  "  Save  her  ! — save  her  ! — do  not 
leave  her  !  "  But  at  that  moment  a  mount- 
ain billow,  of  enormous  magnitude,  ingulfed 
itself  between  the  isle  of  Amber  and  the 
coast,  and  menaced  the  shattered  vessel,  to- 
wards which  it  rolled  bellowing,  with  its 
black  sides  and  foaming  head.  At  this 
terrible  sight  the  sailor  flung  himself  into 
the  sea  ;  and  Virginia,  seeing  deauli  inevi- 
table, crossed  her  hands  upon  her  breast,  and 
raising  upwards  her  serene  and  beauteous 
eyes,  seemed  an  angel  prepared  to  take  her 
fight  to  Heaven. 

Oh,  day  of  horror  !  Alas,  everything  was 
swallowed  up  by  the  relentless  billows.  The 
surge  threw  some  of  the  spectators,  whom 
an  impulse  of  humanity  had  prompted  to 
advance  towards  Virginia,  far  upon  the 
beach,  and  also  the  sailor  who  had  endeav- 
ored to  save  her  life.  This  man,  who  had 
escaped  from  alm.ost  certain  death,  kneeling 
on  the  sand,  exclaimed, — "Oh,  my  God! 
thou  hast  saved  my  life,  but  I  would  have 
given  it  willingly  for  that  excellent  young 
lady,  who  had  ]3ersevered  in  not  undressing 
herself  as  I  had  done."    Domingo  and  I 


PAUL  A^D  VIBGINIA.  ^09 

drew  the  unfortunate  Paul  to  the  shore. 
He  was  senseless,  and  blood  was  flowing 
from  his  mouth  and  ears.  The  Governor 
ordered  him  to  be  put  into  the  hands  of  a 
surgeon,  while  we,  on  our  part,  Avandnred 
along  the  beach,  in  hopes  that  the  sea  wr  aid 
throw  up  the  corpse  of  Virginia.  But  the 
wind  having  suddenly  changed,  as  it  Tre- 
quently  happens  during  hurricanes,  r^ur 
search  was  in  vain:  and  we  had  the  g/ief 
of  thinking  that  we  should  not  be  able  to 
bestow  on  this  sweet  and  unfortunate  ghi 
the  last  sad  duties.  We  retired  from  the 
spot  overwhelmed  with  dismay,  and  our 
minds  wholly  occupied  by  one  cruel  lor^s, 
although  numbers  had  perished  in  the 
wreck.  Some  of  the  spectators  seemed 
tempted,  from  the  fatal  destiny  of  this  vir- 
tuous girl,  to  doubt  the  existence  of  Pro  vi- 
dence :  for  there  are  in  life  such  terrible, 
such  unmerited  evils,  that  even  the  hoi^e  of 
the  wise  is  sometimes  shaken. 

In  the  mean  time  Paul,  who  began  to  re- 
cover his  senses,  was  taken  to  a  house  in 
the  neighborhood,  till  he  was  in  a  fit  stat^ 
to  be  removed  to  his  own  home.  Thither  { 
bent  my  way  with  Domingo  to  discharf  > 
14 


210  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


the  melancholy  duty  of  preparing  Virginia's 
mother  and  her  friend  for  the  disastrous 
event  which  had  happened.  When  we  had 
reached  the  entrance  of  the  valley  of  the 
river  of  Fan-Palms,  some  negroes  informed 
lis  that  the  sea  had  thrown  up  many  pieces 
of  the  wreck  in  the  opposite  bay.  We  de- 
scended towards  it  and  one  of  the  first  objects 
that  struck  my  sight  upon  the  beach  was 
the  corpse  of  Virginia.  The  body  was  half 
covered  with  sand,  and  preserved  the  atti- 
tude in  which  we  had  seen  her  perish.  Her 
features  were  not  sensibly  changed,  her 
eyes  were  closed,  and  her  countenance  was 
still  serene;  but  the  pale  purple  hues  of 
death  were  blended  on  her  cheek  with  the 
blush  of  virgin  modesty.  One  of  her  hands 
was  placed  upon  her  clothes ;  and  the  other, 
which  she  held  on  her  heart,  was  fast  closed, 
and  so  stiffened,  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  I  took  from  its  grasp  a  small  box.  How 
great  was  my  emotion  when  I  saw  that  it 
contained  the  picture  of  Paul,  which  she  had 
promised  him  never  to  part  with  while  she 
lived!  At  the  sight  of  this  last  mark  of  the 
fidelity  and  tenderness  of  the  unfortunate 
girl,  I  wept  bitterly.   As  for  Domingo,  he 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


£11 


beat  his  breast,  and  xoierced  the  air  with  his 
shrieks.  With  heavy  hearts  we  then  carried 
the  body  of  Virginia  to  a  fisherman's  hut, 
and  gave  it  in  charge  of  some  poor  Malabar 
women,  who  carefully  washed  away  the  sand. 

While  they  were  employed  in  this  melan- 
choly office,  we  ascended  the  hill  with  trem- 
bling steps  to  the  plantation.  We  found 
Madame  de  la  Tout  and  Margaret  at  prayer ; 
hourly  expecting  to  have  tidings  from  the 
ship.  As  soon  as  Madame  de  la*  Tour  sa\t 
me  coming,  she  eagerly  cried, — "Where 
is  my  daughter — my  dear  daughter, — my 
(jhild?"  My  silence  and  my  tears  apprised 
her  of  her  misfortune.  She  Avas  instantly 
seized  with  convulsive  stopping  of  the  breath 
iind  agonizing  pains,  and  her  voice  was  only 
heard  in  sighs  and  groans.  Margaret  cried, 
"  VThere  is  my  son  ?  I  do  not  see  my  son  !  " 
and  fainted.  We  ran  to  her  assistance. 
In  a  short  tune  she  recovered,  and  being 
assured  that  Paul  was  safe,  and  under  the 
care  of  the  Governor,  she  thought  of  nothing 
r^ut  of  succoring  her  friend,  who  recovered 
i  rom  one  fainting  fit  only  to  fall  into  another, 
^Madame  de  la  Tour  passed  the  whole  night 
in  these  cruel  sufferings,  and  I  became  con- 


212 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


vinced  that  there  was  no  sorrow  like  that  ot 
a  mother.  When  she  recovered  her  senses, 
she  cast  a  fixed,  unconscious  look  towards 
heaven.  In  vain  her  friend  and  myself 
pressed  her  hands  in  ours  ;  in  vain  we  called 
upon  her  by  the  most  tender  names ;  she 
appeared  wholly  insensible  to  these  testi- 
monials of  our  affection,  and  no  sound  issued 
from  her  oppressed  bosom,  but  deep  and 
hollow  moans. 

During  the  morning  Paul  was  carried 
home  in  a  palanquin.  He  had  now  re- 
covered the  use  of  his  reason,  but  was  un- 
able to  utter  a  word.  His  interview  with 
his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour,  which 
I  had  dreaded,  produced  a  better  effect  than 
all  my  cares.  A  ray  of  consolation  gleamed 
on  the  countenance  of  the  two  unfortunate 
mothers.  They  pressed  close  to  him,  clasped 
him  in  their  arms,  and  kissed  him :  their 
tears,  which  excess  of  anguish  had  till  now 
dried  up  at  the  source,  began  to  flow.  Paul 
mixed  his  tears  with  theirs ;  and  nature 
having  thus  found  relief,  a  long  stupor  suc- 
ceeded the  convulsive  pangs  they  had  suf- 
fered, and  afforded  them  a  lethargic  repose, 
which  was  in  truth,  like  that  of  death. 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA,  213 


Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  sent  to  ap- 
prise me  secretly  that  tlie  corpse  of  Virginia 
had  been  borne  to  the  toAvn  by  his  order, 
from  whence  it  was  to  be  transferred  to 
the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove.  I  im- 
mediately went  down  to  Port  Louis,  where 
I  found  a  multitude  assembled  from  all 
parts  of  the  island,  in  order  to  be  present  at 
the  funeral  solemnity,  as  if  the  isle  had  lost 
that  which  was  nearest  and  dearest  to  it. 
The  vessels  in  the  harbor  had  their  yards 
crossed,  their  flags  half  mast,  and  fired  guns 
at  long  intervals.  A  body  of  grenadiers 
led  the  funeral  procession,  with  their  mus- 
kets reversed,  their  muffled  drums  sending 
forth  slow  and  dismal  sounds.  Dejection 
was  depicted  in  the  countenance  of  these 
warriors,  who  had  so  often  braved  death 
in  battle  without  changing  color.  Eight 
young  ladies  of  considerable  families  of  the 
island,  dressed  in  white,  and  bearing  palm- 
branches  in  their  hands,  carried  the  corpse 
of  their  amiable  companion,  which  was  cov- 
ered with  flowers.  They  were  followed  by 
a  chorus  of  children,  chanting  hymns,  and 
by  the  Governor,  his  field  officer,  all  the 


214  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


principal  inhabitants  of  the  island,  and  an 
immense  crowd  of  people. 

This  imposing  funeral  solemnity  had  been 
ordered  by  the  administration  of  the  coun- 
try, which  was  desirous  of  doing  honor 
to  the  virtues  of  Virginia.  But  when  the 
mournful  procession  arrived  at  the  foot  of 
this  mountain,  within  sight  of  those  cot- 
tages of  wiiich  she  had  been  so  long  an  in- 
mate and  an  ornament,  diffusing  happiness 
all  around  them,  and  which  her  loss  had 
now  filled  with  despair,  the  funeral  pomp 
was  interrupted,  the  hymns  and  anthems 
ceased,  and  the  whole  plain  resounded  with 
sighs  and  lamentations.  Numbers  of  young 
girls  ran  from  the  neighboring  planta- 
tions, to  touch  the  coffin  of  Virginia  with 
their  handkerchiefs,  and  with  chaplets  and 
orowns  of  flowers,  invoking  her  as  a  saint. 
Mothers  asked  of  heaven  a  child  like  Vir- 
ginia ;  lovers,  a  heart  as  faithful ;  the  poor, 
as  tender  a  friend ;  and  the  slaves  as  kind 
a  mistress. 

When  the  procession  had  reached  the 
place  of  interment,  some  negresses  of  Madi* 
agascar  and  Caffres  of  Mozambique  placed 
a  number  of  baskets  of  fruit  around  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  215 


ijorpse,  and  hung  pieces  of  stuff  upon  the 
,v,djoining  trees,  according  to  the  custom  of 
their  several  countries.  Some  Indian  women 
from  Bengal  also,  and  from  the  coast  of  Mal- 
abar, brought  cages  full  of  small  birds,  which 
they  set  at  liberty  upon  her  coffin.  Thus 
deeply  did  the  loss  of  this  amiable  being 
affect  the  natives  of  different  countries,  and 
thus  was  the  ritual  of  various  religions  per- 
formed over  the  tomb  of  unfortunate  virtue. 

It  became  necessary  to  place  guards  round 
her  grave,  and  to  employ  gentle  force  in 
removing  some  of  the  daughters  of  the 
neighboring  villagers,  who  endeavored  to 
throw  themselves  into  it,  saying  that  they 
had  no  longer  any  consolation  to  hope  for  in 
this  world,  and  that  nothing  remained  for 
them  but  to  die  with  their  benefactress. 

On  the  western  side  of  the  church  of  the 
Shaddock  Grove  is  a  small  copse  of  bam- 
boos, where,  in  returning  from  mass  with 
her  mother  and  Margaret,  Virginia  loved  to 
rest  herself,  seated  by  the  side  of  him 
whom  she  then  called  brother.  This  was  the 
spot  selected  for  her  interment. 

At  his  return  from  the  funeral  solemnity, 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  came  up  here, 


21  d  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


fcillo  vV^ed  by  part  of  his  numerous  retinue 
He  offered  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  he? 
friend  all  the  assistance  it  was  in  his  power 
to  bestow.  After  briefly  expressing  his 
indignation  at  the  conduct  of  her  unnatural 
aunt,  he  advanced  to  Paul,  and  said  every- 
thing which  he  thought  most  likely  to 
soothe  and  console  him.  "TTeaven^is  my 
witness,"  said  he,  "  that  I  wished  to  insure 
your  happiness,  and  that  of  your  family. 
My  dear  friend,  you  must  go  to  France ; 
I  will  obtain  a  commission  for  you,  and 
during  your  absence  I  will  take  the  same 
care  of  your  mother  as  if  she  were  my  own." 
He  then  offered  him  his  hand ;  but  Paul 
drew  away  and  turned  his  head  aside^ 
unable  to  bear  his  sight. 

I  remained  for  some  time  at  the  plantav 
tion  of  my  unfortunate  friends,  that  I  might 
render  to  them  and  Paul  those  offices  of 
friendship  that  were  in  my  power,  and 
which  might  alleviate,  though  they  could 
not  heal  the  wounds  of  calamity.  At  the 
end  of  three  weeks  Paul  was  able  to  walk ; 
but  his  mind  seemed  to  droop  in  proportion 
as  his  body  gathered  strength.  He  was  in- 
sensible to  everything ;  his  look  was  vacant; 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA.  217 


and  when  asked  a  question,  he  made  no 
reply.  Madame  de  la  Tour,  who  was  dying, 
said  to  him  often, — "  My  son,  while  I  look 
at  you,  I  think  I  see  my  dear  Virginia." 
At  the  name  of  Virginia  he  shuddered,  and 
hastened  away  from  her,  notwithstanding- 
the  entreaties  of  his  mother,  who  begged 
him  to  come  back  to  her  friend.  He  used 
to  go  alone  into  the  garden,  and  seat  himself 
at  the  foot  of  Virginia's  cocoa-tree,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  fountain.  The  Gover- 
nor's surgeon,  Avho  had  shown  the  most 
humane  attention  to  Paul  and  the  whole 
family,  told  us  that  in  order  to  cure  the  deep 
melancholy  which  had  taken  possession  of 
his  mind,  we  must  allow  him  to  do  what- 
ever he  pleased,  without  contradiction  :  this, 
he  said,  afforded  the  only  chance  of  over- 
coming the  silence  in  which  he  persevered. 

I  resolved  to  follow  this  advice.  The  first 
use  which  Paul  made  of  his  returning 
strength  was  to  absent  himself  from  the 
plantation.  Being  determined  not  to  lose 
sight  of  him  I  set  out  immediately,  and  de-* 
sired  Domingo  to  take  some  provisions  and 
accompany  us.  The  young  man's  strength 
and  spirits  seemed  renewed  as  he  descended 


218 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


the  mountain.  He  first  took  the  road  to 
the  Shaddock  Grove,  and  when  he  was  near 
the  church,  in  the  Alley  of  Bamboos,  he 
Walked  directly  to  the  spot  where  he  saw 
some  earth  fresh  turned  up ;  kneeling  down 
there,  and  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he 
offered  up  a  long  prayer.  This  appeared  to 
me  a  favorable  symptom  of  the  return  of 
his  reason ;  since  this  mark  of  confidence  in 
the  Supreme  Being  showed  that  his  mind 
was  beginning  to  resume  its  natural  func- 
l^ions.  Domingo  and  I,  following  his  ex- 
ample, fell  upon  our  knees,  and  mingled 
our  prayers  with  his.  When  he  arose,  he 
bent  his  way,  paying  little  attention  to  us, 
towards  the  northern  part  of  the  island. 
As  I  knew  that  he  was  not  only  ignorant 
of  the  spot  where  the  body  of  Virginia  had 
been  deposited,  but  even  of  the  fact  that  it 
had  been  recovered  from  the  waves,  I  asked 
him  why  he  had  offered  up  his  prayer  at 
the  foot  of  those  bamboos.  He  answered, — 
"  We  have  been  there  so  often." 

He  continued  his  course  until  we  reached 
the  borders  of  the  forest,  when  night  camo 
on.  I  set  him  the  example  of  taking  some 
nourishment,  and  prevailed  on  him  to  do 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  219 


the  same ;  and  we  slept  upon  the  grass,  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree.  The  next  day  I  thought 
he  seemed  disposed  to  retrace  his  steps ;  for, 
after  having  gazed  a  considerable  time  from 
the  plain  upon  the  church  of  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  with  its  long  avenues  of  bamboos, 
he  made  a  movement  as  if  to  return  home ; 
but  suddenly  plunging  into  the  forest,  he 
directed  his  course  towards  the  north.  I 
gTiessed  what  was  his  design,  and  I  en- 
deavored, but  in  vain,  to  dissuade  him  from 
it.  About  noon  we  arrived  at  the  quarter 
of  Golden  Dust.  He  rushed  down  to  the 
sea-shore,  opposite  to  the  spot  where  the 
Saint-Geran  had  been  wrecked.  At  the 
sight  of  the  isle  of  Amber,  and  its  channel, 
then  smooth  as  a  mirror,  he  exclaimed, — 
ic  Virginia !  oh,  my  dear  Virginia  !  "  and  fell 
senseless.  Domingo  and  I  carried  him  into 
the  woods,  where  we  had  some  difficulty  in 
recovering  him.  As  soon  as  he  regained 
his  senses,  he  wished  to  return  to  the  sea- 
shore ;  but  we  conjured  him  not  to  renew 
his  own  anguish  and  ours  by  such  cruel 
remembrances,  and  he  took  another  direc- 
tion. During  a  whole  week  he  sought  every 
spot  where  he  had  once  wandered  with  the 


220 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


companion  of  his  childhood.  He  traced 
the  path  by  which  she  had  gone  to  intercede 
for  the  slave  of  the  Black  River.  He  gazed 
again  upon  the  banks  of  the  river  of  the 
Three  Breasts,  where  she  had  rested  herself 
when  unable  to  walk  further,  and  upon  the 
part  of  the  wood  where  they  had  lost  their 
way.  All  the  haunts,  which  recalled  to  his 
memory  the  anxieties,  the  sports,  the  repasts, 
the  benevolence  of  her  he  loved, — the  river 
of  the  Sloping  Mountain,  my  house,  the 
neighboring  cascade,  the  papaw  tree  she  had 
planted,  the  grassy  fields  in  which  she  loved 
to  run,  the  openings  of  the  forest  where  she 
used  to  sing,  all  in  succession  called  forth 
his  tears ;  and  those  very  echoes  which  had 
so  often  resounded  with  their  mutual  shouts 
of  joy,  now  repeated  only  these  accents  of 
despair, — "  Virginia !  oh,  my  dear  Virginia  ! " 

During  this  savage  and  wandering  life, 
his  eyes  became  sunk  and  hollow,  his  skin 
assumed  a  yellow  tint,  and  his  health  rapidly 
declined.  Convinced  that  our  present  suf- 
ferings are  rendered  more  acute  by  the  bitter 
recollection  of  bygone  pleasures,  and  that 
the  passions  gather  strength  in  solitude,  I 
resolved  to  remove  my  unfortunate  friend 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


221 


from  those  scenes  which  recalled  the  remem- 
brance of  his  loss,  and  to  lead  him  to  a  more 
busy  part  of  the  island.  With  this  view,  I 
conducted  him  to  the  inhabited  part  of  the 
elevated  quarter  of  Williams,  which  he  had 
never  visited,  and  where  the  busy  pursuits 
of  agriculture  and  commerce  ever  occasioned 
much  bustle  and  variety.  Numbers  of  car- 
penters were  employed  in  hewing  down  and 
squaring  trees,  while  others  were  sawing 
them  into  planks ;  carriages  were  continually 
passing  and  repassing  on  the  roads ;  nu- 
merous herds  of  oxen  and  troops  of  horses 
were  feeding  on  those  widespread  meadows, 
and  the  whole  country  was  dotted  with  the 
dwellings  of  man.  On  some  spots  the  ele- 
vation of  the  soil  permitted  the  culture  of 
many  of  the  plants  of  Europe :  the  yellow 
ears  of  ripe  corn  waved  upon  the  plains ; 
strawberry  plants  grew  in  the  openings  of 
the  woods,  and  the  roads  were  bordered  by 
hedges  of  rose-trees.  The  freshness  of  the 
air,  too,  giving  tension  to  the  nerves,  was 
favorable  to  the  health  of  Europeans.  From 
those  heights,  situated  near  the  middle  of 
the  island,  and  surrounded  by  extensive 
forests,  neither  the  sea,  nor  Port  Louis^  nor 


222  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  nor  any 
other  object  associated  with  the  remem- 
brance of  Virginia  could  be  discerned. 
Even  the  mountains,  which  present  various 
shapes  on  the  side  of  Port  Louis,  appear 
from  hence  hke  a  long  promontory,  in  a 
straight  and  perpendicular  line,  from  which 
arise  lofty  x)yramids  of  rock,  whose  summits 
are  enveloped  in  the  clouds. 

Conducting  Paul  to  these  scenes,  I  kept 
him  continually  in  action,  walking  with  him 
in  raui  and  sunshine,  by  day  and  by  night. 
I  sometimes  wandered  with  him  into  the 
depths  of  the  forests,  or  led  him  over  untilled 
grounds,  hoping  that  change  of  scene  and 
fatigue  might  divert  his  mind  from  its  gloomy 
meditations.  But  the  soul  of  a  lover  finds 
everywhere  the  traces  of  the  beloved  object. 
Night  and  day,  the  calm  of  solitude  and  the 
tumult  of  crowds,  are  to  him  the  same ; 
time  itself,  which  casts  the  shade  cf  oblivion 
over  so  many  other  remembrances,  in  vain 
would  tear  that  tender  and  sacred  recollec- 
tion from  the  heart.  The  needle,  when 
touched  by  the  loadstone,  however  it  may 
have  been  moved  from  its  position,  is  no 
sooner  left  to  repose,  than  it  returns  to  the 


PAUL  AND  VIBGIXIA. 


223 


pole  of  its  attraction.  So,  when  I  inquired 
of  Paul,  as  we  wandered  amidst  the  plains 
of  Williams, — "  Where  shall  we  now 
go?"  he  pointed  to  the  north,  and  said, 
"  Yonder  are  our  mountams  ;  let  us  return 
home." 

I  now  saw  that  all  the  means  I  took  to 
divert  him  from  his  melancholy  were  fruit- 
less, and  that  no  resource  was  left  but  an 
attempt  to  combat  his  passion  by  the  argu- 
ments which  reason  suggested.  I  answered 
him, — "  Yes,  there  are  the  mountains  where 
once  dwelt  your  beloved  Virginia ;  and  here 
is  the  picture  you  gave  her,  and  which  she 
held,  when  dying,  to  her  heart — that  hearty 
which  even  in  its  last  moments  only  beat  for 
you."  I  then  presented  to  Paul  the  little 
portrait  which  he  had  given  to  Virginia  on 
the  borders  of  the  cocoa-tree  fountain.  At 
this  sight  a  gloomy  joy  overspread  his  coun- 
tenance. He  eagerly  seized  the  picture  with 
his  feeble  hands,  and  held  it  to  his  lips, 
His  oppressed  bosom  seemed  ready  to  burst 
with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears  which  had  no  power  to  flow. 

"  My  son,"  said  T,  "  listen  to  one  who  is 
your  friend,  who  was  the  friend  of  Virginia, 


224  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


and  who,  in  the  bloom  of  your  hopes,  has 
often  endeavored  to  fortify  your  mind  against 
the  unforeseen  accidents  of  life.  What  do 
you  deplore  with  so  much  bitterness  ?  Is  it 
your  own  misfortunes,  or  those  of  Virginia, 
which  affect  you  so  deeply  ? 

"  Your  own  misfortunes  are  indeed  severe. 
You  have  lost  the  most  ainiable  of  girls,  who 
would  have  grown  up  to  womanhood  a  pat- 
tern to  her  sex,  one  who  sacrificed  her  own 
interests  to  yours  :  who  preferred  you  to  all 
that  fortune  could  bestow,  and  considered 
you  as  the  only  recompense  worthy  of  her 
virtues. 

''But  might  not  this  very  object,  from 
whom  you  expected  the  j)urest  happiness, 
have  proved  to  3^ou  a  source  of  the  most  cruel 
distress  ?  She  had  returned  poor  and  disin- 
herited ;  all  you  could  henceforth  have  par- 
taken with  her  was  your  labor.  Rendered 
more  delicate  by  her  education,  and  more 
courageous  by  her  misfortunes,  you  might 
have  beheld  her  every  day  sinking  beneatla 
her  efforts  to  share  and  lighten  your  fa- 
tigues. Had  she  brought  you  children, 
they  would  only  have  served  to  increase  her 
anxieties  and  your  own,  from  the  difficulty  of 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


225 


sustaining  at  once  your  aged  parents  and 
your  infant  family. 

"Very  likely  you  will  tell  me  that  the 
Governor  would  have  helped  you  ;  but  how 
do  you  know  that  in  a  colony  whose  gover- 
nors are  so  frequently  changed,  you  would 
have  had  others  like  Monsieur  de  la  Bour- 
donnais? — that  one  might  not  have  been 
sent  destitute  of  good  feeling  and  of  morality  ? 
that — your  young  wife,  in  order  to  procure  ~ 
some  miserable  pittance,  might  not  have 
been  obliged  to  seek  his  favor  ?  Had  she 
been  weak  you  would  have  been  to  be 
pitied ;  and  if  she  had  remained  virtuous, 
you  would  have  continued  poor :  forced  even 
to  consider  yourself  fortunate  if,  on  account 
of  the  beauty  and  virtue  of  your  wife,  you 
had  not  to  endure  persecution  from  those 
who  had  promised  you  protection. 

"  It  would  still  have  remained  to  you,  you 
may  say,  to  have  enjoyed  a  pleasure  inde- 
pendent of  fortune,  that  of  protecting  a 
beloved  being,  who,  in  proportion  to  her  own 
helplessness,  had  more  attached  herself  to 
you.  You  may  fancy  that  your  pains  and 
sufferings  would  have  served  to  endear  you 
to  each  other,  and  that  your  passion  would 


226  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


have  gathered  strength  from  your  mutual 
misfortunes.  Undoubtedly  virtuous  love 
does  find  consolation  even  in  such  melan- 
choly retrospects.  Bat  Virginia  is  no  more ; 
yet  those  persons  still  live,  whom,  next  to 
yourself,  she  held  most  dear ;  her  mother, 
and  your  own :  your  inconsolable  affliction 
is  bringing  them  both  to  the  grave.  Place 
your  happiness  as  she  did  hers,  in  affording 
them  succor.  My  son,  beneficence  is  the 
happiness  of  the  virtuous :  there  is  no  greater 
or  more  certain  enjoyment  on  the  earth. 
Schemes  of  pleasure,  repose,  luxuries,  wealth 
and  glory  are  not  suited  to  man,  weak,  wan- 
dering, and  transitory  as  he  is.  See  how 
rapidly  one  step  towards  the  acquisition  of 
fortune  has  precipitated  us  all  to  the  lowest 
abyss  of  misery  !  You  were  opposed  to  it; 
it  is  true ;  but  who  would  not  have  thought 
that  Virginia's  voyage  would  terminate  in 
her  happiness  and  your  own  ?  an  invitation 
from  a  rich  and  aged  relation,  the  advice 
of  a  wise  governor,  the  approbation  of  the 
whole  colony,  and  the  well-advised  authority 
of  her  confessor,  decided  the  lot  of  Virginia. 
Thus  do  we  run  to  our  ruin,  deceived  even 
by  the  prudence  of  those  who  watch  over 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA.  227 


US  :  it  would  be  better,  no  doubt,  not  to  be- 
lieve them,  nor  even  to  listen  to  the  voice  or 
lean  on  the  hopes  of  a  deceitful  world.  But 
all  men, — those  you  see  occupied  in  these 
plains,  those  who  go  abroad  to  seek  their 
fortunes,  and  those  in  Europe  who  enjoy 
repose  from  the  labors  of  others,  are  liable 
to  reverses !  not  one  is  secure  from  losings 
at  some  period,  all  that  he  most  values, — - 
greatness,  wealth,  wife,  children,  and  f  riends* 
Most  of  these  would  have  their  sorrow  in- 
creased by  the  remembrance  of  their  own 
imprudence.  But  you  have  nothing  with 
which  you  can  reproach  yourself.  You  have 
been  faithful  in  your  love.  In  the  bloom  of 
youth,  by  not  departing  from  the  dictates 
of  nature,  you  evinced  the  wisdom  of  a  sage. 
Your  views  were  just,  because  they  were 
pure,  simple,  and  disinterested.  You  had, 
besides,  on  Virginia,  sacred  claims  which 
nothing  could  countervail.  You  have  lost  her: 
but  it  is  neither  your  own  imiorudence,  nor 
your  avarice,  nor  your  false  wisdom  which 
has  occasioned  this  misfortune,  but  the  will 
of  God,  who  has  employed  the  passions  of 
others  to  snatch  from  you  the  object  of  yovir 
love;  God,  from  whom  you  derive  every- 


228 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


thing,  who  knows  what  is  most  fitting  for 
you,  and  whose  wisdom  has  not  left  you  any 
cause  for  the  repentance  and  despair  which 
succeed  the  calamities  that  are  brought  upon 
us  by  ourselves. 

"  Vainly,  in  your  misfortunes,  do  you  say 
to  yourself,  '  I  have  not  deserved  them.'  Is 
it  then  the  calamity  of  Virginia — her  death 
and  her  j^resent  condition  that  you  deplore  ? 
She  has  undergone  the  fate  allotted  to  all, — 
to  high  birth,  to  beauty,  and  even  to  empires 
themselves.  The  life  of  man,  with  all  its 
project,  may  be  compared  to  a  tower,  at 
whose  summit  is  death.  When  your  Vir- 
ginia was  born,  she  was  condemned  to  die  ; 
happily  for  herself,  she  is  released  from  life 
before  losing  her  mother,  or  yours,  or  you ; 
saved,  thus,  from  undergoing  pangs  worse 
than  those  of  death  itself. 

"Learn  then,  my  son,  that  death  is  a 
benefit  to  all  men :  it  is  the  night  of  that- 
restless  day  we  call  by  the  name  of  life.  The 
diseases,  the  griefs,  the  vexations,  and  the 
fears,  which  perpetually  embitter  our  life  as 
long  as  we  possess  it,  molest  us  no  more  in 
the  sleep  of  death.  If  you  inquire  into  the 
history  of  those  men  who  appear  to  have 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA.  229 

been  the  happiest,  you  will  find  that  they 
have  bought  their  apparent  felicity  very 
dear;  public  consideration,  perhaps,  by 
domestic  evils ;  the  rare  happiness  of  being 
beloved,  by  continual  sacrifices ;  and  often,  at 
the  expiration  of  a  life  devoted  to  the  good 
of  others,  they  see  themselves  surrounded 
only  by  false  friends,  and  ungrateful  re- 
lations. But  Virginia  was  happy  to  her 
very  last  moment.  When  with  us,  she  v/as 
happy  in  partaking  of  the  gifts  of  nature ; 
when  far  from  us,  she  found  enjoyment 
m  the  practice  of  virtue ;  and  even  at  the 
terrible  moment  in  which  we  saw  her  perish, 
she  still  had  cause  for  self-gratulation.  For, 
whether  she  cast  her  eyes  on  the  assembled 
colony,  made  miserable  by  her  expected  loss, 
or  on  you,  my  son,  who,  with  so  much 
intrepidity,  were  endeavoring  to  save  her, 
she  must  have  seen  how  dear  she  was  to  all. 
Her  mind  was  fortified  against  the  future  by 
the  remembrance  of  her  innocent  life ;  and 
at  that  moment  she  received  the  reward 
which  Heaven  reserves  for  virtue, — a  cour- 
age superior  to  danger.  She  met  death 
with  a  serene  countenance. 

"My  son!    God  gives  all  the  trials  of  life 


230 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


to  virtue,  in  order  to  show  that  virtue  alone 
can  support  them,  and  even  find  in  them 
happiness  and  glory.  When  he  designs  for 
it  an  illustrious  reputation,  he  exhibits  it 
on  a  wide  theater,  and  contending  with 
death.  Then  does  the  courage-  of  virtue 
shine  forth  as  an  example,  and  the  misfor- 
tunes to  which  it  has  been  exposed  receive 
forever,  from  posterity,  the  tribute  of  their 
tears.  This  is  the  immortal  monument 
reserved  for  virtue  in  a  world  where  every- 
thing else  passes  aAvay,  and  where  tha 
names,  even  of  the  greater  number  of  kings 
themselves,  are  soon  buried  in  eternal 
oblivion. 

Meanwhile  Virginia  still  exists.  My 
son,  you  see  that  everything  changes  on 
this  earth,  but  that  nothing  is  ever  lost. 
No  art  of  man  can  annihilate  the  smallest 
particle  of  matter;  can,  then,  that  which 
has  possessed  reason,  sensibility,  affection, 
virtue  and  religion  be  supposed  capable  of 
destruction,  when  the  very  elements  with 
which  it  is  clothed  are  imperishable  ?  Ah ! 
however  happy  Virginia  may  have  been 
with  us,  wshe  is  now  much  more  so.  There- 
is  a  God,  my  son  \  it  is  unnecessary  for  ma 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


231 


to  prove  it  to  you,  for  the  voice  of  all  nature 
loudly  proclaims  it.  The  wickedness  of 
mankind  lead  them  to  deny  the  existence  of 
a  Being,  whose  justice  they  fear.  But  your 
mind  is  fully  convinced  of  his  existence, 
while  his  works  are  ever  before  your  eyes. 
Do  you  then  believe  that  he  w^ould  leave 
Virginia  without  recompense?  Do  you 
think  that  the  same  Power  which  inclosed 
her  noble  soul  in  a  form  so  beautiful, — so 
like  an  emanation  from  itself,  could  not 
have  saved  her  from  the  waves  ? — that  he 
who  has  ordained  the  happiness  of  man  here, 
by  laws  unknown  to  you,  cannot  prepare  a 
still  higher  degree  of  felicity  for  Virginia 
by  other  laws,  of  which  you  are  equally 
ignorant  ?  Before  we  were  born  into  this 
world,  could  we,  do  you  imagine,  even  if  we 
were  capable  of  thinking  at  all,  have  formed 
any  idea  of  our  existence  here  ?  And  now 
that  we  are  in  the  midst  of  this  gloomy  and 
transitory  life,  can  we  foresee  what  is  be- 
yond the  tomb,  or  in  what  manner  we  shall 
be  emancipated  from  it?  Does  God,  like 
man,  need  this  little  globe,  the  earth,  as  a 
theater  for  the  display  of  his  intelligence 
and  his  goodness  ? — and  can  he  only  dispo^^e 


232  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


of  human  life  in  the  territory  of  death? 
There  is  not,  in  the  entire  ocean,  a  single 
drop  of  water  which  is  not  peopled  with 
living  beings  appertaining  to  man :  and 
does  there  exist  nothing  for  him  in  the 
heavens  above  his  head  ?  What !  is  there 
no  supreme  intelligence,  no  divine  goodness, 
except  on  this  little  spot  where  we  are 
placed  ?  In  those  innumerable  glowing  fires, 
— in  those  infinite  fields  of  light  which  sur- 
round them,  and  which  neither  storms  nor 
darkness  can  extinguish,  is  there  nothing 
but  empty  space  and  an  eternal  void  ?  If  we, 
weak  and  ignorant  as  we  are,  Inight  dare  to 
assign  limits  to  that  Power  from  whom  we 
have  received  everything,  we  might  pos- 
sibly imagine  that  we  were  placed  on  the 
very  confines  of  his  empire,  where,  life  is 
perpetually  struggling  with  death,  and  in- 
nocence forever  in  danger  from  the  power 
of  tyranny ! 

"  Somewhere,  then,  without  doubt,  there 
is  another  world,  where  virtue  will  receive 
its  reward.  Virginia  is  now  happy.  Ah  ! 
if  from  the  abode  of  angels  she  could  hold 
communication  with  you,  she  would  tell  you 
as  she  did  when  she  bade  you  her  last  adieus, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


233 


— « O,  Paul !  life  is  but  a  scene  of  trial.  I 
have  been  obedient  to  the  laws  of  nature,  love 
and  virtue.  I  crossed  the  seas  to  obey  the 
will  of  my  relations  ;  I  sacrificed  wealth  in 
order  to  keep  my  faith;  and  I  preferred 
the  loss  of  life  to  disobeying  the  dictates  of 
modesty.  Heaven  found  that  I  had  ful- 
filled my  duties,  and  has  snatched  me  for- 
ever from  all  the  miseries  I  might  have 
endured  myself,  and  all  I  might  have  felt 
for  the  miseries  of  others.  I  am  placed  far 
above  the  reach  of  all  human  evils,  and  you 
pity  me !  I  am  become  pure  and  unchange- 
able as  a  particle  of  light,  and  you  would 
recall  me  to  the  darkness  of  human  life ! 
O,  Paul  I  O,  my  beloved  friend !  recollect 
those  days  of  happiness,  when  in  the  morn- 
ing we  felt  the  delightful  sensations  ex- 
cited by  the  unfolding  beauties  of  nature ; 
when  we  seemed  to  rise  with  the  sun  to  the 
peaks  of  those  rocks,  and  then  to  spread  with 
his  rays  over  the  bosom  of  the  forests. 
We  experienced  a  delight,  the  cause  of 
which  we  could  not  comprehend.  In  the 
innocence  of  our  desires,  we  wished  to  be  all 
sight,  to  enjoy  the  rich  colors  of  the  early 
dawn;  all  smell,  to  taste  a  thousand  per- 


234  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


fumes  at  once ;  all  hearing,  to  listen  to  the 
singing  of  our  birds  ;  and  all  hearts,  to  be 
capable  of  gratitude  for  those  mingled 
blessings.  Now,  at  the  source  of  the  beauty 
whence  flows  all  that  is  delightful  upon 
earth,  my  soul  intuitively  sees,  tastes,  hears, 
touches,  what  before  she  could  only  be 
made  sensible  of  through  the  medium  of 
our  weak  organs.  Ah !  what  language  can 
describe  these  shores  of  eternal  bliss,  which 
I  inhabit  forever !  All  that  infinite  power 
and  heavenly  goodness  could  create  to  con- 
sole the  unhappy :  all  that  the  friendship 
of  numberless  beings  exulting  in  the  same 
facility  can  impart,  we  enjoy  in  unmixed 
perfection.  Support,  then,  the  trial  which 
is  now  allotted  to  you,  that  you  may  heighten 
the  happiness  of  your  Virginia  by  love 
which  will  know  no  termination, — by  a 
union  which  will  be  eternal.  There  I  will 
calm  your  regrets,  I  will  wipe  away  your 
tears.  Oh,  my  beloved  friend !  my  youth- 
ful husband !  raise  your  thoughts  towards 
the  infinite,  to  enable  you  to  support  the 
evils  of  a  moment.'  " 

My  own  emotion  choked  my  utterance. 
Paul,  looking  at  me  steadfastly,  cried, — "  She 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


235 


Is  no  more !  she  is  no  more ! "  and  a  long 
fainting  fit  succeeded  these  words  of  woe. 
When  restored  to  himself,  he  said,  "  Since 
death  is  a  good,  and  smce  Virginia  is  happy, 
I  will  die  too,  and  be  united  to  Virginia." 
Thus  the  motives  of  consolation  I  had 
offered,  only  served  to  nourish  his  despair. 
I  was  in  the  situation  of  a  man  who  attempts 
to  save  a  friend  sinking  in  tlie  midst  of  a 
flood,  and  who  obstinately  refuses  to  swim. 
Sorrow  had  completely  overwhelmed  his 
soul.  Alas !  the  trials  of  early  years  pre- 
pare man  for  the  afflictions  of  after-life  ;  but 
Paul  had  never  experienced  any. 

I  took  him  back  to  his  own  dwelling, 
where  I  found  his  mother  and  Madame  de 
la  Tour  in  a  state  of  increased  languor  and 
exhaustion,  but  Margaret  seemed  to  droop 
the  most.  Lively  characters,  upon  whom 
petty  troubles  have  but  little  effect,  sink 
the  soonest  under  great  calamities. 

"  O  my  good  friend,"  said  Margaret,  I 
thought  last  night  I  saw  Virginia,  dressed 
in  white,  in  the  midst  of  groves  and  deli- 
cious gardens.  She  said  to  me,  'I  enjoy 
the  most  perfect  happiness  : '  and  then  ap- 
proaching Paul  with  a  smiling  air,  sho 


236 


PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


bore  him  away  with  her.  Wliile  I  was 
struggling  to  retain  my  son,  I  felt  that  I  my- 
self too  was  quitting  the  earth,  and  that  I 
followed  with  inexpressible  delight.  I  then 
wished  to  bid  my  friend  farewell,  when  I  saw 
that  she  Avas  hastening  after  me,  accom- 
panied by  Mary  and  Domingo.  But  the 
strangest  circumstance  remains  j^et  to  be 
told  ;  Madame  de  la  Tour  has  this  very  night 
had  a  dream  exactly  like  mine  in  every  pos- 
sible respect." 

"My  dear  friend,"  I  replied,  "nothing  I 
firmly  believe,  happens  in  this  world  with- 
out  the  permission  of  God.  Future  events, 
too,  are  sometimes  revealed  in  dreams." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  then  related  to  me 
her  dream,  which  was  exactly  the  same  as 
Margaret's  in  every  particular ;  and  as  I  had 
never  observed  in  either  of  these  ladies  any 
propensity  to  superstition,  I  was  struck  with 
the  singular  coincidence  of  their  dreaiiis, 
and  I  felt  convinced  that  they  would  soon  be 
realized.  The  belief  that  future  events  are 
sometimes  revealed  to  us  during  sleep,  is 
one  that  is  widely  diffused  among  the  na- 
tions of  the  earth.  The  greatest  men  of 
antiquity  have  had  faith  in  it ;  among  whom 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


237 


may  be  mentioned  Alexander  the  Great, 
Julius  Caesar,  the  Scipios,  the  two  Catos, 
and  Brutus,  none  of  whom  were  weak- 
minded  persons.  Both  tlie  Old  and  the 
Kew  Testament  furnish  us  with  numerous 
instances  of  dreams  that  came  to  pass.  As 
for  myself,  I  need  only,  on  this  subject, 
appeal  to  my  experience,  as  I  have  more 
than  once  had  good  reason  to  believe  tliat 
superior  intelligences,  who  interest  them- 
selves in  our  welfare,  communicate  with  us 
in  these  visions  of  the  night.  Things  which 
surpass  the  light  of  human  reason,  cannot 
be  proved  by  arguments  derived  from  that 
reason ;  but  still,  if  the  mind  of  man  is  an 
image  of  that  of  God,  since  man  can  make 
known  his  will  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  by 
secret  missives,  may  not  the  Supreme  Intel- 
ligence which  governs  the  universe  employ 
similar  means  to  attain  a  like  end?  One 
friend  consoles  another  by  a  letter,  which, 
after  passing  through  many  kingdoms,  and 
being  in  the  hands  of  various  individuals  at 
enmity  with  each  other,  brings  at  last  joy 
and  hope  to  the  breast  of  a  single  human 
being.  May  not  in  like  manner  the  Sover- 
eign Protector  of  innocence  come  in  soma 


238  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


secret  way,  to  the  help  of  a  virtuous  soul, 
which  puts  its  trust  in  Him  alone  ?  Has  he 
occasion  to  employ  visible  means  to  effect 
his  purpose  in  this,  whose  ways  are  hidden 
in  all  his  ordinary  works  ? 

Why  should  we  doubt  the  evidence  of 
dreams  ?  for  what  is  our  life,  occupied  as  it 
is  with  vain  and  fleeting  imaginations,  other 
than  a  prolonged  vision  of  the  night? 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  this  in 
general,  on  the  present  occasion  the  dreams 
of  my  friends  were  soon  realized.  Paul  ex- 
pired two  months  after  the  death  of  his  Vir- 
ginia, whose  name  dwelt  on  his  lips  in  his 
expiring  moments.  About  a  week  after  the 
death  of  her  son,  Margaret  saw  her  last 
hour  approach  v/ith  that  serenity  which 
virtue  only  can  feel.  She  bade  Madame  de 
la  Tour  a  most  tender  farewell,  "  in  the 
certain  hope,"  she  said,  "of  a  delightful  and 
eternal  re-union.  Death  is  the  greatest  of 
blessings  to  us,"  added  she,  "  and  we  ought 
to  desire  it.  If  life  be  a  punishment,  we 
should  wish  for  its  termination ;  if  it  be  a 
trial,  we  should  be  thankful  that  it  is  short." 

The  Governor  took  care  of  Domingo  and 
Mary,  who  were  no  longer  able  to  labor,  and 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


239 


who  survived  their  mistresses  but  a  short 
time.  As  for  poor  Ficlele,  he  pined  to 
death  soon  after  he  had  lost  his  master. 

I  afforded  an  asylum  in  my  dwelling  to 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  who  bore  up  under 
her  calamities  with  incredible  elevation  of 
mind.  She  had  endeavored  to  console  Paul 
and  Margaret  till  their  last  moments,  as  if 
she  herself  had  no  misfortunes  of  her  own  to 
bear.  When  they  were  no  more,  she  used  to 
talk  to  me  every  day  of  them  as  of  beloved 
friends,  who  were  still  living  near  her.  She 
survived  them  however,  but  ohe  month. 
Far  from  reproaching  her  aunt  for  the  afflic- 
tions she  had  caused,  her  benign  spirit 
prayed  to  God  to  pardon  her,  and  to  appease 
that  remorse  which  we  heard  began  to  tor- 
ment her,  as  soon  as  she  had  sent  Virginia 
away  with  so  much  inhumanity. 

Conscience,  that  certain  punishment  of 
the  guilty,  visited  with  all  its  terrors  the 
mind  of  this  unnatural  relation.  So  great 
was  her  torment,  that  life  and  death  became 
equally  insupportable  to  her.  Sometimes 
Bhe  reproached  herself  with  the  untimely 
fate  of  her  lovely  niece,  and  with  the  death 

her  mother,  which  had  immediately  fol- 


240  PAUL  AND  VIBGINIA. 


lowed  it.  At  other  times  she  congratulated 
herself  for  having  repulsed  far  from  her  two 
wretched  creatures,  who,  she  said,  had  both 
dishonored  their  family  by  their  groveling 
inclinations.  Sometimes,  at  the  sight  of 
the  many  miserable  objects  Avitli  which 
Paris  abounds,  she  would  fly  into  a  rage,  and 
exclaim, — "Why  are  not  these  idle  people 
sent  oft'  to  the  colonies  ?  "  As  for  the  notions 
of  humanity,  virtue,  and  religion,  adopted  by 
all  nations,  she  said,  they  were  only  the  in- 
ventions of  their  rulers,  to  serve  political 
purposes.  Then,  fiymg  all  at  once  to  the 
other  extreme,  she  abandoned  herself  to 
superstitious  terrors,  which  filled  her  with 
mortal  fears.  She  would  then  give  abundant 
alms  to  the  wealthy  ecclesiastics  who  gov- 
erned her,  baseeching  them  to  appease  tlie 
wrath  of  God  by  the  sacrifice  of  her  fortune, 
— as  if  the  offering  to  Him  of  the  wealth 
Bhe  had  withheld  from  the  miserable  could 
please  her  Heavenly  Father !  In  her  im- 
agination she  often  beheld  fields  of  fire,  with 
burning  mountains,  wherein  hideous  spec- 
ters wandered  about,  loudly  calling  on  her 
by  name.  She  threw  herself  at  her  con- 
fessor's feet,  imagining  evjry  description 


PAUL  AND  VIBGIXIA.  241 

cf  agony  and  torture;  for  Heaven— just 
Heaven— always  sends  to  the  cruel  the  most 
frightful  views  of  religion  and  a  future  state. 

Atheist,  thus,  and  fanatic  in  turn,  hold- 
ing both  life  and  death  in  equal  horror,  she 
lived  on  for  several  years.    But  what  com- 
pleted the  torments  of  her  miserable  ex- 
istence, was  that  very  object  to  which  she 
had  sacrificed  every  natural  afEection.  She 
was  deeply  annoyed  at  perceiving  that  her 
fortune  must  go,  at  her  death,  to  relations 
whom  she  hated,  and  she  determined'  to 
alienate  as  much  of  it  as  she  could.  They, 
however,  taking  advantage  of  her  frequent 
attacks  of  low  spirits,  caused  her  to  be 
secluded  as  a  lunatic,  and  her  affairs  to  be 
put  into  the  hands  of  trustees.    Her  wealth 
thus  completed  her  ruin ;  and,  as  the  pos- 
session of  it  had  hardened  her  own  heart,  so 
did  its  anticipation  corrupt  the  hearts  of 
those  who  coveted  it  from  her.   At  length 
bhe  died  ;  and,  to  crown  her  misery,  she  re- 
tained reason  enough  at  last  to  be  sensible 
that  she  was  plundered  and  despised  by  the 
very  persons  whose  opinions  had  been  hef 
rule  of  conduct  during  her  whole  life. 
On  the  same  spot,  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
16 


242  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


same  shrubs  as  his  Virgmia,  was  deposited 
the  body  of  Paul ;  and  round  about  them 
lie  the  remains  of  their  tender  mothers  and 
their  faithful  servants.  No  marble  marks 
the  spot  of  their  humble  graves,  no  inscrip- 
tion records  their  virtues  ;  but  their  memory- 
is  engraven  upon  the  hearts  of  those  whom 
they  have  befriended,  in  indelible  characters. 
Their  spirits  have  no  need  of  the  pomp, 
which  they  shunned  during  their  life ;  but 
if  they  still  take  an  interest  in  what  passes 
upon  earth,  they  no  doubt  love  to  Avander 
beneath  the  roofs  of  these  humble  dwellings, 
inhabited  by  industrious  virtue,  to  console 
poverty  discontented  with  its  lot,  to  cherish 
in  the  hearts  of  lovers  the  sacred  flame  of 
fidelity,  and  to  inspire  a  taste  for  the  blessings 
of  nature,  a  love  of  honest  labor,  and  a  dread 
of  the  allurements  of  riches.  The  voice  of 
the  people,  which  is  often  silent  with  regard 
to  the  monuments  raised  to  kings,  has  given 
to  some  parts  of  this  island  names  which 
will  immortalize  the  loss  of  Virginia.  Near 
the  isle  of  Amber,  in  the  midst  of  sandbanks, 
is  a  spot  called  The  Pass  of  the  Saint-Geran, 
from  the  name  of  the  vessel  which  was  there 
lost.   The  extremity  of  that  point  of  land 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


243 


which  you  see  yonder,  three  leagues  oflf^ 
half  covered  with  water,  and  which  the 
Saint-Geran  could  not  double  the  night 
before  the  hurricane,  is  called  the  Cape  of 
Misfortune ;  and  before  us,  at  the  end  of  the^ 
valley,  is  the  Bay  of  the  Tomb,  where  Vir- 
ginia was  found  buried  in  the  sand ;  as  it  the 
waves  had  sought  to  restore  her  corpse  to 
her  family,  that  they  might  render  it  the 
last  sad  duties  on  those  shores  where  so 
many  years  .of  her  innocent  life  had  been 
passed. 

Joined  thus  in  death,  ye  faithful  lovers, 
who  were  so  tenderly  united!  unfortunate 
mothers !  beloved  family !  these  woods  which 
sheltered  you  with  their  foliage, — these 
fountains  which  flowed  for  you, — these  hill- 
sides upon  which  you  reposed,  still  deplore 
your  loss  !  No  one  has  since  presumed  to 
cultivate  that  desolate  spot  of  land,  or  to 
rebuild  those  humble  cottages.  Your  goats 
are  become  wild:  your  orchards  are  de- 
stroyed ;  your  birds  are  all  fled;  and  nothing 
is  heard  but  the  cry  of  the  sparrow-hawk,  as 
it  skims  in  quest  of  prey  around  this  rocky 
basin.  As  for  myself,  since  I  have  ceased 
to  behold  you,  I  have  felt  friendless  and 


244  PAUL  AV£>  VIRGINIA. 

alone,  like  a  father  bereft  of  his  children,  or 
a  traveler  who  wanders  by  himself  over  the 
face  of  the  earth." 

Ending  with  these  words,  the  good  old 
man  retired,  bathed  in  tears ;  and  my  own, 
too,  had  flowed  more  than  once  during  this 
melancholy  recital. 


\ 


